


The Winter Wolf

by JBankai89



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe - The Great Depression, Alternative Universe - Werewolves, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Found Family, Implied Past Abuse, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recovery, Soulmates, Switching, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Wilderness Survival, werewolf violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 95,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: No one thought the Great Depression would be an easy time, but none knew it better than Steven Grant Rogers.When his mother married a farmer from out of town with a mean streak a mile wide in early 1938, twenty-year-old Steve honestly thought his life couldn't get any worse. Steve was sickly and unable to hold down any kind of job; a burden on the struggling family. When it all became too much, his stepfather talked Sarah Rogers into the unthinkable—abandon the young man where no one but the wolves would find him.DO NOT TRANSLATE OR REPOST
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 165
Kudos: 365





	1. Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story will be updated bi-weekly, and the next update is scheduled for March 8th. All the asthmatic issues Steve has in this story (in particular in the first couple chapters) are derived from my own experience, as I have lived with chronic asthma my entire life. The medical remedies mentioned are in line with that time period, and definitely do not reflect how modern medicine would treat this particular ailment.

The Winter Wolf

Chapter One – Abandoned

Steve didn't really know where they were going.

The ancient jalopy didn't like driving along this road. It was unpaved and packed unevenly with snow, which made the vehicle jostle them terribly and caused Steve's head to spin. He never much liked moving vehicles like this.

Steve brought a handkerchief to his mouth, and coughed into it a couple times. His stepfather glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and frowned disapprovingly. Steve ignored him as he checked the handkerchief for blood, and he felt his shoulders sag with relief when he found none. Considering his weak system, he knew that he was a prime target for consumption.

At least his stepfather was being quiet, allowing Steve to watch the passing winter scenery quietly. Usually, a coughing fit was an opening for his stepfather to start cursing at him, or hitting him, depending on his mood that day. God above, he missed his own father so much. This man was a poor replacement for Joe Rogers.

“We need to stop here for tonight,” his stepfather announced abruptly as he pulled over on the empty stretch of road, the jalopy puttering to a stop alongside a dense patch of woods. “Go fetch some firewood.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied, not even bothering to protest the fact that it was bitingly cold out, that the sun was almost down, or that he wasn't properly dressed for a trek through the woods. His shoes would be soaked through before long, and his light jacket was hardly going to stave off the winter chill.

No, he said none of this—complaints were not worth a beating. It would be easier to gather the firewood without a limp, after all.

Steve opened the door of the vehicle, and hopped down into the snow, grimacing as his feet were almost immediately submerged into it. Steve shivered, and pulled the coat more tightly around himself. For one insane moment, he almost wanted to ask his stepfather for another layer, but at the last second he decided against it—that man wouldn't even give him the muck off his shoes; why would he give him something warm to wear?

With a despondent sigh, Steve made for the woods.

Steve felt utterly stupid as he picked his way through the trees, doing his best to not walk into anything as he went. His feet already felt frozen, and the cold, dry air bit at his lungs, making his breath escape him in short gasps.

Steve lifted his arms above his head, a trick he had learned to help him when his breath would not come easily, but it did not help as much as usual, perhaps given how cold it was. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stay calm. Panic would only make it harder to breathe, not easier.

Steve forced himself to drop his arms when he came upon some dry wood, and he began to collect it. He was beginning to get dizzy from his shortness of breath.

Steve delved deeper into the woods as he continued to search for dry wood that would suffice for a fire. There wasn't much to be had, and his stepfather hadn't bothered to give him an axe—perhaps because he knew that Steve did not have the ability to wield one with any sort of precision.

Full dark was coming on quickly, and Steve knew that he'd gone far into the woods, though he couldn't tell how far exactly. He wanted to go back before he would be wholly unable to find his way, but he didn't have enough firewood yet, and he did not want to risk inciting his stepfather's wrath.

A popping, dull roar of a sound ripped through the silence of the woods, and Steve swore as he dropped all the wood that he'd been holding. He hardly noticed however as he whipped around to the source of the awful noise, his eyes wide, hardly daring to _believe _it.

Steve fumbled his way out of the woods. He wanted to go faster, but at the risk of running into something in the dark, he forced his pace to slow. He was too panicked to even really notice his laboured breathing, and only when he slowed to a stop by the empty roadside did the gravity of the situation truly hit him.

Distantly, Steve could see the glow of the old Ford Model T's headlamps in the distance. They flickered whenever his stepfather hit a bump in the road, confirming that it was actually his car, and not someone else.

“He finally did it,” Steve breathed as he leant against a tree, and stared, dumbfounded, at the retreating lights. “The miserable old bastard finally _did _it.”

Maybe it shouldn't have been such a shock that his family finally dumped him like this, but Steve had always hoped that his mother would've wanted him around longer. Sarah Rogers had always told him how much he meant to her, how much he'd meant to his father, but apparently that didn't matter so much. Ma hadn't been the same since she married _him_. The miserable farmer named Edmund Thomas, the one who hated Steve for taking up Sarah's time, the one who complained endlessly about how small and weak Steve was, how he couldn't find a girl who'd marry him, and how much food he took from the rest of the family.

Ed didn't like that. He didn't like that Steve ate at the same table as his own five kids, their own mother taken by consumption a year before he'd married Sarah. Ed didn't like much of anything, really, except maybe hitting people.

Steve had overheard the suggestions, of course, and times were so tough that it wasn't unheard of for the more burdensome family members to be abandoned, left somewhere, or suffocated in their sleep. Ed said it all the time, but Steve acutely remembered his mother getting angry and protesting it—she'd even cried a few times.

But now...

Steve looked around again, and shivered as the wind began to pick up. Clearly, Ed had found a way to talk his mother into it.

Steve stepped back into the woods, and he discovered that the wind had died down a little when blocked by the trees.

He didn't really know what was better—a slow death in the woods, or a quick one along the roadside? Steve really didn't expect anyone to come to his rescue; things were bad enough for people barely having enough to feed their families—no one would willingly help a guy that they're likely to step on.

Steve decided right then that 1930 was the worst decade a man could hope to live in. He tightened his coat around himself, his face set in a scowl as he began to walk aimlessly through the trees, and debated the merits of returning to the scene of his abandoned firewood. He was no great shakes at anything outdoorsy, but he could probably use his shoelaces to rig up a few small animal traps...

Steve almost laughed at the idiotic idea. He was a dumb city kid who got dragged out to the country for three years before he was dumped in the woods like a pile of trash. What did _he _know about trapping and fire-building?

No, Ed had made it perfectly clear how _useless _he was.

Steve hiked up the collar of his jacket, but he still shivered. The thick trees definitely dampened the biting wind, but not enough to make him feel exactly warm and cosy_._

_I'm not gonna last long like this,_ Steve thought as he walked, stamping his feet hard to keep the numbness at bay, but it didn't work as well as he'd had hoped that it would. His breathing was evening out, but not enough for him to feel at ease about it, and if he kept wandering aimlessly, he was just going to exhaust himself.

_I need a plan,_ Steve thought as he slowed to a stop, and at the same moment, he heard the eerie howl of a wolf, which made him almost jump out of his skin.

“No...that can't be right,” Steve muttered to himself as he tried to calm his racing heart. “There's no wolves this close to town...what kind of stupid wolf would come this close?”

Steve wasn't exactly reassured when he heard another, more distant howl.

If there were wolves around, he was in _much _deeper trouble than he'd originally thought.

~*~

Steve continued to walk, if for no other reason than to keep himself warm. He didn't hear the wolves again, which was a small blessing, and he began to wonder if he'd somehow imagined the sounds of them.

During his aimless trek, Steve did find a few caves that could have worked as a shelter for the night, but he was forced to abandon them when he realised that they faced the wind, or were occupied by what looked like bears, though he didn't have the nerve to get close enough to be sure.

Along that same vein, his attempts at starting a fire were also a wash.

Finding dry wood proved to be a bit of a challenge the farther he went into the woods, and he had even less luck finding dry kindling like dry leaves or broken pieces of bark. Even the few pieces he did find refused to do anything when Steve rubbed them together. He should have expected it, but it was still a huge disappointment that he really was as useless as Ed had always claimed.

Steve threw the sticks away with a huff of anger. What was he going to do _now?_

Without seeing any other options, Steve began to walk again. It was so dark that it was hard to really see where he was going, or even really _feel _where he was going, as he couldn't feel his feet at all anymore. Really, it was amazing he hadn't frozen to death yet, though Steve couldn't decide if that was a good thing or bad thing—if he didn't die quickly, he'd die slowly, which would probably be a lot less pleasant.

“Maybe I'll just run into those wolves and they'll kill me quickly...” Steve mused as he walked, panting a little from the exertion, while his calves began to burn with fatigue.

The cold seeped steadily into Steve's every pore as he walked. Hunger gnawed at him as he moved, and his sweaty hair was beginning to freeze into stringy clumps that stuck to his forehead.

Steve had tucked his arms under his jacket, and shoved his hands into his underarms, which only faintly warmed him as he moved, though it didn't last long, and again Steve was suffused with cold.

Steve had no idea how long he'd been in the woods, but with every step his movements grew more sluggish. His vision blurred slightly, but it was hard to tell if it was his eyes, or the darkness around him. The trees groaned as the wind picked up, and it stung his ears slightly. If it could reach him this deeply in the woods, the wind had to be _howling_ on the main road and in town, making Steve feel deeply grateful that he'd chosen this course of action. Sure, he had no food or shelter, but he wasn't frozen solid.

Yet.

~*~

As Steve ascended higher into the Adirondack Mountains, his breathing became more laboured. For a wild moment he panicked, worrying about the altitude messing with his lungs, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize how unlikely that was—the Adirondacks weren't exactly Everest, and it would probably take him _much _longer to get to that sort of height.

And, Steve knew, he'd be long dead before that.

Shivering, Steve slowed to an unwilling stop. He couldn't feel his feet at all anymore, and when he peeled his arms out of his coat and took his gloves off, he saw that his hands were almost completely white.

And not the usual fair skin tone he was accustomed to seeing either—this was frostbite white.

He was running out of time.

Steve fought to put his gloves back on, his shaking now no longer just tremors from the cold, but from fear as well. His slacks had long since froze to his shoes, and he was afraid of taking them off to see the damage. He couldn't remember how long it took for skin to go black, thus needing amputation, and even so he didn't have any kind of knife to do it himself.

Steve stumbled, tripping over a tree root embedded in the deep snow. He fell, no longer having the energy to even try and stop himself, and he landed face-down in the snow. It was cold, but strangely, Steve suddenly began to feel _hot_. He was tempted to take off his jacket, just to cool down. Why was he so _hot _all of a sudden?

Steve let out a moan of confusion and pain, but it was lost in the howling wind and groaning trees. The heat was comforting, at least better than the cold was.

Steve shut his eyes.

He'd figure it out tomorrow.

~*~

Steve heard an odd crackling. That was the first thing he noticed.

He was lying on something hard, but not stone. No, it was...a rug? And underneath felt like wood. On top of him was something heavy and warm, and he felt..._tight_. Like something had been wrapped around all his body parts. His hands and feet were sore, and any slight twitch sent a zap of pain to that area.

Steve moaned, more in confusion than discomfort, which only grew when he dared to crack his eyes open.

“What the...” Steve moved to sit up, at a loss for how he'd ended up in a _cabin_, when a big hand pressed into his shoulder, holding him down.

“No,” a voice said gruffly, and firmly. “You're not ready to move yet.”

Steve turned to look, and he felt his breath catch.

Tall, maybe six foot or so, and covered in lean muscle. He had long, wavy dark hair, part of which had been pulled out his face with a tie, and his kind face was only slightly obscured by his neatly trimmed beard and serious scowl. His stormy, blue-grey eyes were glinting slightly with an odd emotion set in them—

_Relief_.

This stranger was _relieved _that he'd woken up.

“What...what happened?” Steve croaked, even as the man began to peel back the heavy animal fur that was covering him, revealing three knit blankets underneath. Under that, Steve was dressed in overlarge, baggy clothes that he didn't recognize, and his arms had been wound tightly with cloth bandages.

“I was out checking my traps and my...my land, and found you lying there, not a hundred yards from my house,” the man explained as he began to massage Steve's hand and forearm, which made him flush red from the familiar touch. Steve didn't stop him though—something told him the man was doing it for medical reasons, not intimate ones.

_And I doubt a mountain man like this guy would ever..._

Steve didn't finish the thought, and instead refocused his attention on the man's explanation.

“You were half-in and half-out of your coat, so I guess you were going towards cold-sickness around when you passed out. I brought you back here and did everything you're supposed to—you're _really _lucky you didn't lose anything. Your hands and feet are probably going to be sore for a little while, though. We just need make sure that you warm up slow—nothing too quick, that might do more harm than anything. I got plenty of meat for the winter, so you can stay until you're better, or until I make you some new clothes...whichever comes first.”

As the man spoke, he switched sides in order to massage Steve's other arm, but only after he'd securely tucked him back in. It took Steve longer than he wanted to admit for everything the man said to sink in, but when it did, he blinked in confusion.

“New...clothes?”

“Your stuff was frozen stiff, I couldn't get it off, and it was important that I got you in dry clothes as fast as I could. Your shoes were a complete lost cause, I had to cut them off you.”

“Oh.” Steve paused, and chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched the man tuck him back in, and then moved to check his feet. “I...I've sort of found myself homeless, um, pretty recently...”

Steve trailed off. He had no idea what to say.

“You could stay here,” the man offered at once, his tone jumping from gruff to almost on the side of _too _eager. Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. In tough times like this, it wasn't as common to have someone so readily offer up a place to stay, and a more cynical person might view the man's enthusiasm as suspect, but something in his tone made Steve _want _to trust him.

More than that, the way the man had taken Steve in, given him clothes and warm blankets, tended to him so carefully...

Steve got the impression that this man had been alone for a long, long time.

“Okay,” Steve agreed after a moment's pause. “But maybe I should know your name?”

“I'm Bucky,” he said easily, but smiled wryly when Steve gave him an odd look. “James Buchanan Barnes, but I prefer Bucky.”

“Oh.” Steve felt himself blush again. Even his smile was nice. “I'm Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve.”

Steve smiled, and nestled deeper into the blankets, while Bucky said something about getting him something to eat.

As he watched Bucky turn away, his eyes fell to the man's ass, and he felt all his blood immediately rush to his groin.

_Oh yeah, _Steve thought as he watched him go. _I think I'm gonna like it here._


	2. Domestic Oddities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for March 22nd. Enjoy!

Chapter Two – Domestic Oddities

When Steve woke the next morning, it was to the strange sensation of being massaged again.

The fire was still roaring in the grate, and there was a tin camper's mug on a tray near his head. The steam curling up from it smelled like soup instead of coffee or tea, but it was still more appetizing than the dried hunks of meat he'd been given last night for dinner. However, Bucky did not seem to have noticed that Steve had woken up, and was intently focused on massaging Steve's left calf.

In truth, Steve could almost believe that he'd actually died and gone to heaven, were it not for the dull ache in his limbs. It was hard to tell if it was from his frostbite or Bucky's firm hand—it was clearly a massage for medical reasons, not relaxing ones, but despite barely knowing the mountain man, Steve felt like he could trust him.

“You're awake.”

It was a statement, not a question or surprised remark. Steve snapped out of his sleepy thoughts, and turned to Bucky. He was hovering over Steve and watching him curiously, with his hair hanging loose around his shoulders.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Steve replied, at a loss of how else he could respond.

“You need to stay warm,” Bucky said, his tone just shy of commanding as he picked up the mug. “I made...this. I can't remember its name. Meat juice.”

“You mean broth?” Steve asked as he tried to sit up, but Bucky placed a hand to his chest, holding him down.

“Rest, please,” Bucky said. The words were thick in his mouth, like he'd forgotten how to speak. He sounded less certain of his words than he did last night; now, he sounded almost nervous, though Steve had no idea why. “You need to rest. I will take care of you.”

“Uh, okay,” Steve said, easing back. Usually, he didn't like when people coddled him, but out here it seemed safer to go along with it until he felt better, or until spring, whichever came first. He had no idea how long this sort of frostbite took to heal. “Uh...I'd love some broth, Bucky.”

Bucky seemed to relax a little, and even smiled faintly. He set down the mug, and shifted until he was kneeling behind Steve's head. For a moment, Steve had no idea what Bucky was doing, and let out a little gasp when Bucky eased Steve's head up, and propped him against the tops of Bucky's beautifully muscular thighs.

_Oh, God, _Steve thought as he fought down a blush. _My head is in his lap._

Steve had been with men, of course—many men. All those nights in Brooklyn when he flubbed some excuse to his Ma about going out dancing, or visiting the World's Fair, really he was in a defunct speakeasy, sharing drinks with men who were _far _too old for him. Those nights he'd even managed to forget that it was illegal to be himself.

For all that though, he'd never put his head in a man's _lap_. It felt so intimate, much more than he had expected it to.

Steve tried to remind himself that Bucky probably did not mean anything by it. It didn't help to tamp down on that faint tendril of hope however, especially as he watched Bucky reach for the mug again, and he gently brought it to Steve's lips.

“Drink slow,” Bucky commanded. “It's very hot.”

Steve did as he was told, and sipped the broth. It wasn't the greatest-tasting, fatty, and definitely not beef. It wasn't _bad_, exactly, just...simple.

It tasted okay enough that Steve did not protest when Bucky made him drink the whole cup, though he almost wanted to complain when Bucky eased him back down on the pillows, and moved to put the empty mug in the kitchen.

“What was that?” Steve asked when Bucky returned and sat at his side upon the floor. He was in work jeans, an undershirt, and no socks, which Steve thought was a little odd for February. Even in the dim light, Steve could see a number of gnarled scars around his left shoulder, and his forearm of the same limb had another big scar on it, like a nasty dog bite.

“Deer and bear,” Bucky explained simply, “I ate the meat, but used the bones for your...broth? I've only ever seen my...my mother make it.”

“Well, you did a real good job with it,” Steve offered. “Never had those things before. I guess you hunt a whole lot, huh?”

“I hunt deer and bear when they're fat, sometimes rabbit or fox, or moose if I feel lucky about it,” Bucky replied with an affirmative nod. “The meat dries, and I save it for winter when food is hard to find.”

“Have you been doing that long?” Steve asked curiously, “living out here, I mean?”

“Only a few cycles,” Bucky said, though he pressed on before Steve had a chance to ask how long a _cycle _was. “I had to leave home, and I found this place.”

“Leave home?”

“I was not wanted,” Bucky said shortly, and Steve frowned.

“Yeah, I understand that,” Steve muttered glumly.

“You were exiled from your pac...family?” Bucky asked curiously, and Steve shrugged a little in response.

“I guess you could call it that,” Steve replied, and shrugged again. “It's the Depression, you know? And I'm...sickly. My lungs don't work so great, my hearing's shot in one ear. I spent half my childhood in one of those stupid iron lungs. My stepdad didn't want me no more, so he dumped me on the side of the road like garbage. Exiled is too nice a word for what he did.” Steve looked back up to Bucky, who looked genuinely angry on his behalf. That was nice to see from a stranger.

Unexpectedly, Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve's face with both his hands. Steve tensed as Bucky leaned in close until they were nose-to-nose. He gasped, and Bucky sniffed sharply. It was hard to tell if Bucky was trying to smell the air, or taking some sort of strange deep breath.

“I'll take care of you now,” Bucky announced, his voice deep and hoarse, but heavy with conviction.

~*~

After Bucky's heartfelt (if slightly alarming) proclamation, he checked Steve over again, and pressed more of the hot broth on him. This, of course, led Steve to needing to relieve himself really badly, but Bucky was apparently unwilling to let Steve move, much less pee on his own, and insisted on him using a bedpan, which was a wildly embarrassing experience, even after Steve insisted that Bucky look away.

At lunchtime Bucky said something about checking his traps, but left Steve with food and water—dried pieces of some kind of fatty meat, and more hot broth, like Bucky was afraid of giving him too much heavy food too quickly.

Curiously, Bucky went out of the house without donning any sort of winter clothing, or even _shoes,_ and left in the undershirt and pants.

Steve had _no _idea how someone could forget such a thing, but as he lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, he wondered if maybe Bucky had left his coat and boots outside.

That was the only thing that really made sense to Steve. After all, what sort of idiot would go out at this time of year practically half-naked?

When Bucky came back, he showed no sign of cold, save for snow-dampened hair that proved he'd been outside—that, and the handful of animal carcasses he was carrying.

Steve felt his stomach turn uneasily, even as he rationalized that this would be a necessary evil for someone living in the wilderness. He probably had some kind of hunting license. Even so, Steve still didn't like seeing the dead fox or those huge fluffy rabbits, their pristine fur stained with blood.

Steve looked away when Bucky told him to, and his stomach turned a little when he smelled blood on the air.

It took a while for Bucky to deal with his kills, and only after about an hour did it seem to occur to Bucky that Steve might not be used to being so intimately familiar with his meat. He said something about _doing it quick_, but he also refused to open a window to let the blood-smell out. Something in his tone made Steve think that Bucky was afraid of Steve getting cold again, which seemed silly when he was all but buried under a mountain of blankets and furs.

Despite Bucky's promise, it still took him a couple hours, and when he proclaimed that he was finished, Steve rolled over and immediately felt his stomach turn again.

The animal hides had been pulled over things that almost looked like ironing boards, while the meat had been placed in neat piles on the blood-soaked table. Even the bones had their own little section, and it looked like nothing would be wasted. Bucky himself was in the adjoining kitchen and he was scrubbing at his hands with a bar of soap, with water gushing out of an old-fashioned looking pump.

Steve was impressed, if only for the fact that the pump hadn't frozen over. He wondered idly how Bucky had managed it, but didn't actually ask, instead watching as Bucky silently packed up most of the meat and bones into cloth bags, and headed back outside—again with no outer clothing.

“Aren't you cold?” Steve blurted out when Bucky returned with only the faintest flush to his cheeks.

Bucky blinked, as though startled by the question, and took several long moment before he said simply, “cold doesn't bother me.”

_What is he, half polar bear? _Steve wondered incredulously, though he didn't say it out loud. Instead he watched as Bucky gathered up the remaining meat into a bowl, scrubbed down the table, and began to prepare supper.

Despite Steve's worry over what this odd mountain man considered _supper_, he produced a simple, if slightly bland stew of rabbit, potatoes, and rutabaga.

For Steve, anyway. For himself, Bucky seemed to have prepared a bowl of raw meat without the vegetables, and offered up a feeble excuse that he preferred his meat rare.

_Rare? _Steve wondered as he watched Bucky eat on the floor next to him, at least allowing Steve to sit up and feed himself. _It looks completely raw._

Steve didn't comment on it, though. He'd heard that eating raw meat and fish wasn't exactly _common_, but it was something that some people did. Maybe Bucky was just embarrassed by his preference for raw meat, and Steve didn't want to offend his generous host.

“I need to check your limbs,” Bucky said after they'd finished eating, and he'd cleared away the dishes. “Are you comfortable here? There is a bed, but I thought it might be too far from the fire. And it's very..._soft_.” Bucky made a face, as though that particular notion was somehow odd to him.

“I wouldn't make no bones about a soft bed,” Steve said. “It's pretty warm in here, so I think I'll be okay. If you're real worried about me getting cold, we could use the warming pans.”

Steve pointed to the warming pans that he'd noticed propped against the stones of the fireplace, and Bucky blinked, as though he had no idea what they were.

Suddenly, Steve got the impression that this might _not _be Bucky's cabin.

Steve didn't know how he felt about that, but the place was warm, inviting, and tidy. There were no signs of a struggle, and Bucky _had _said that he'd been there for a while. Maybe the cabin had been abandoned when he found it?

“You put coals in it, and put it in the bed,” Steve explained in an effort to distract himself from his own thoughts. “It warms it up. Kind of old-fashioned, but it still works.”

“Show me.”

Bucky's tone was commanding, but Steve thought that Bucky hadn't meant it to be so. It seemed as though Bucky had a naturally assertive personality, but by the same token, it didn't appear as though he was trying to _control _Steve. Either way, Steve found that didn't really mind, especially when his newfound curiosity lit up Bucky's face like a Christmas tree.

God help him, Steve thought it was _adorable_.

Steve tried to get up to do as Bucky asked, but the larger man panicked and made Steve lie down under the covers again, seemingly only just remembering that Steve was still recuperating from his frostbite.

Steve let Bucky mother him, smiling a bit as he lay back and instead directed Bucky on how to use the thing. They'd had one at home which his Ma had used a few times on really cold nights.

“You'll use the bed,” Bucky pronounced, nodding his head once as he set the warming pan aside, apparently confident with how it worked. “I want you comfortable.”

Steve was more than comfortable with Bucky around, but he didn't say so. At the risk of saying something too blatant to someone who might not fall into his _category_, so to speak, wasn't just stupid—it could also be dangerous.

Instead, Steve just nodded. If he was lucky, Bucky might allow him to stay through the winter at least, which would give him plenty of time to figure out just where Bucky sat on that particular fence.

And, if he was _very _lucky, he might be able to get a few drinks into him, and talk the brunet into jumping over it.

~*~

Bucky rubbed down Steve's arms and legs again, and checked them over carefully before removing the bandages, which gave Steve a chance to look at his limbs for the first time since his arrival at the little cabin.

His fingers were a little stiff, but not sore anymore, and still flushed red, though that could have been from Bucky's firm massages. His toes felt a bit sore still, though he didn't have a chance to inspect them before Bucky stuffed them inside a pair of thick, lumpy socks.

“Can I sit up now?” Steve asked teasingly when Bucky had finished. “Really, I feel fine. A bit stiff, but fine. You've taken real good care of me.”

Bucky perked up a little, and Steve thought that he looked in that moment a lot like a dog being praised. However, as soon as Steve's words clicked in his mind he snapped out of his apparent daze, and smoothed his hands over the top blanket that was covering Steve up.

“No, you need to rest,” Bucky commanded. “I will keep you safe.”

There was something odd in Bucky's tone, something that Steve couldn't quite identify. He seemed almost terrified of letting Steve get out of the warmth, in a way that gave him the impression that he'd lost someone close to him.

_His mother? _Steve wondered as he lay back down without protest, and watched Bucky wring his hands a little, seemingly momentarily at a loss for what to do. _She's the only family he's mentioned so far. Maybe she got sick, or something. That would explain why he's so afraid of letting me get up._

And yet, it still didn't completely explain to Steve _why _Bucky cared so much. He wasn't gonna push it—if Bucky wanted to help him, he wasn't in much of a place to protest it. He didn't have the skills or even the right clothing to stay alive out in the wilderness on his own. He was a stranger to Bucky, but that didn't seem to matter. Bucky was determined to take care of him, and no matter how frustrating it was when he felt mostly fine, Steve wasn't going to make this harder than it had to be.

Not yet, anyway.

If Bucky kept it up for too long, _then _he might kick up a stink over it.

~*~

Steve didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up it was morning.

He was nestled in a comfortable bed, once again bundled in blankets that seemed to border between comfortable and stifling. A stream of bright sunlight was pouring through the single-paned window and across the foot of the bed, which warmed his nest of blankets even further.

Bucky had been right though; the bedroom was a few degrees colder than the living room had been, and he shivered as he slipped from the thick covers and moved over to the cabinet, sifting through it for something warm to wear.

The clothing was comprised mostly of old, well-worn garments. They were simple enough, nothing fancy in the mix, and most seemed to be made by someone with an unsteady hand, who may have been unfamiliar with the tasks of sewing or knitting.

They all smelled faintly of old cologne and tobacco, which was odd, as Steve had never seen Bucky smoke or chew tobacco, much less wear cologne, but it was possible that Bucky just smoked outside.

Steve shrugged to himself, dismissing the thought as he tugged on one of the grey sweaters, then headed out of the room in order to find his companion.


	3. Suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay guys! The plague has somewhat hampered my inspiration (primarily because as an asthmatic I am very nervous about this thing). Next update is scheduled for April 5th. Enjoy!

Chapter Three – Suspicion

The first few days following Steve's recuperation were awkward, to say the least.

Though Steve had had an inkling of it before, it was quickly becoming abundantly clear that Bucky had not been around people in a long,  _ long  _ time. 

In some ways, it was almost like he'd forgotten what it was like to be human. 

There were little things, like how Bucky sometimes forgot about personal space, and sat  _ way  _ too close to Steve.

Or slightly bigger things, like when he wanted Steve to do something, and he'd make him do it in some truly odd fashions. 

One particularly memorable experience had been when he'd wanted Steve to bathe, and Steve had remarked that he'd do it in the morning. Bucky had responded by scooping Steve up and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, and dumped him in the hot water with all his clothes on.

Other times, it was things that were more subtle, but no less confusing, like how he'd let out every bodily function on the planet, and never bothered to excuse himself.

And considering that his diet was mostly animal protein, Bucky  _ definitely  _ needed to excuse himself for  _ that _ .

It was odd, but overall not off-putting—most of the time, anyway. He was like an awkward adolescent in the body of a beautiful man who was just learning his social skills. For Steve, he felt like the least he could do was teach Bucky a thing or two after he'd quite literally saved his life.

A week into his stay, they'd developed something not unlike a routine, while Steve did his best to not feel too much like Bucky's housewife. 

Every day, Steve would get up early and dig into the root cellar for something to make for breakfast. Usually, it was some kind of cooked grain and meat. There were a few jars of fruit preserves mixed in with the food stores, and they were still in good shape. Steve decided to use them in order to top their oatmeal in the mornings, but sparingly so that they didn't run out before spring. 

Steve had noted early on that most of the sacks of dry goods all had the name  _ Barton Farms  _ printed onto the raw fabric, but Steve couldn't really envision Bucky buying stuff from a farm.

It was all very curious, but Steve hadn't yet had the nerve to ask. From what little he knew (and suspected) of Bucky, he was almost afraid to hear the answer.

~*~

Bucky meandered into the kitchen at the smell of food, but made a face when he saw the oatmeal topped with redcurrant jelly at his place setting, along with a plateful of bacon. 

Bucky pointedly ignored the oatmeal and went straight for the meat, while Steve did his best not to laugh. Really, getting Bucky to eat anything but meat had been like getting a little kid to eat his peas. 

“I found some coffee in the root cellar,” Steve offered as he cradled the mug in his hands, and eyed his companion. “Do you want some?”

“What's coffee?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of his bacon, one long strip sticking out of the corner of his mouth like a cigarette, and Steve made a face. His table manners still needed work. 

“It's...uh...roasted beans that you put in water, and then you drink the water. It gives you energy.”

“Is that coffee?” Bucky asked, pointing to Steve's mug, and Steve nodded. He held it out to show the brunet, and Bucky leant in. At first, Steve thought he was going to try a sip, but Bucky only sniffed it before he made a face and pushed Steve's hand away, making him laugh warmly at his companion's reaction.

“It smells funny,” Bucky complained as Steve took a long, fortifying sip. Privately, he was almost glad that Bucky didn't like the smell of it—that meant there was more for him. “You actually like it?”

“When I can get it,” Steve replied, smiling as he regretfully put the mug down and started on his own oatmeal. “It's real expensive, see, so we gotta make it last.”

“I'll get you coffee,” Bucky immediately pronounced. “Where does it grow?”

“I don't think you can get it,” Steve said with a short laugh. “It grows down south where's it's warm all the time. You couldn't get there without a car or train.”

“Oh.” Bucky scowled. “Then how is it here, if it grows so far away?”

“They pick it and make it there, then send it here to stores, and people buy it,” Steve explained. “Or...they send the beans and we make it here, then sell it. I'm not actually sure. Either way, there's some sending involved.”

“Why would someone send away their food?” Bucky asked curiously, cocking his head to the side. “Don't they need it?”

“Oh, uh...it's complicated, Buck. Real complicated. Even I don't understand entirely how it works. See, it's called exports, I think, or imports...one of them. Anyway, we send things to places that can't get those things like...maple syrup, I guess, and they send us stuff like oranges and coffee.”

“Oh.” Bucky paused again, his brow creased with thought. “Okay.”

Amazingly, the talk of how trade worked seemed to give Bucky something of an appetite, and he ate the oatmeal with very little complaining, save for telling Steve that he liked meat better.

Steve smiled benignly, and Bucky scowled, like he knew that Steve fully intended to feed Bucky more oatmeal the following morning. 

“I need to go and check my traps and the land,” Bucky announced after they'd eaten, and Steve felt an odd squirming in his stomach—like guilt and a bruised ego all wrapped into one. 

“Can I help?” Steve ventured, even though he knew it was useless.

“Your new clothes aren't finished,” Bucky announced simply as he tugged on a pair of bearskin boots, and shrugged into a thick coat made of a patchwork of animal skins. “And you stomp like galloping elk.”

Steve made a face, even as Bucky stepped up to him, and rested his heavy hands on Steve's shoulders. Steve felt his breath still as Bucky gazed down at him with more than just command, but concern in his stormy eyes.

“Stay,” Bucky commanded. He paused for a moment, then added, “please.”

“Okay,” Steve whispered, his voice certainly too airy for his own liking, and he cleared his throat once before he added, “but when you finish those winter clothes for me, I want to help. I'm not some little dame you picked up somewhere, Buck. I can earn my keep.”

“You're strong, Steve, but you're  _ loud _ ,” Bucky said with an almost teasing smile. “I know you want to help, but you scare all the animals away. You can help me skin my kills, if you promise not to throw up this time.”

“ _ I bet riding the Cyclone on Coney Island would be easier _ ,” Steve muttered under his breath as he forced a nod, still scowling, even as Bucky chuckled, touched his cheek, and shouldered an old-fashioned bow and arrow before he headed out into the brisk winter air.

Steve didn't have much to do after Bucky left. He poured out the leftover softened oats for the birds and squirrels, washed the dishes, then wandered around the house, looking for something to clean. 

In the time between his ma losing his pa, and her finding that..._person_...they'd had to make do when there'd been no man around, which ultimately led to Steve picking up the slack while his ma took overnight shifts at the hospital. Because of all that, he thought of himself as a fairly decent cleaner, even if it still sort of bothered him. With Bucky out of the house working to find their food_, _in that moment he really _did_ feel like the mountain man's little housewife.

If he was being honest with himself, he sort of liked the idea, even if it was never going to happen. 

As far as Steve had been able to tell, Bucky Barnes was as straight as a barber's razor.

_ Shame, really, _ Steve thought as he heated some water on the stove to wash the floor with.  _ A good man is so hard to find these days. _

~*~

Bucky got home a lot earlier than Steve had expected him, but offered Steve a few rabbits for his trouble, which he promised to prepare soon. 

“There's something we need to talk about, Steve,” Bucky said urgently as he dumped the rabbit carcasses on their breakfast table, one boot off, and the other still on his foot, and he was only half out of his coat. 

“Okay,” Steve replied as he curved a brow at him. “Uh...just relax and tell me. I'm sort of stuck here, so I promise I won't freak out.”

“Yes, you're stuck.” Bucky stated it like he'd only just remembered. In an instant, he seemed to completely relax. Steve found that both strange and a little unsettling. Why was Bucky so relieved that he  _ couldn't  _ leave? “But tonight...I have...uh... _ things _ . I'll be out all night, but I'll be home early in the morning. I just need you to promise me something, Steve.”

“Yeah, sure, Buck,” Steve said, even as alarm bells began to chime in his head. However, he was determined that Bucky  _ not  _ see how suspicious he was—not yet, anyway.

“Don't go outside tonight,” Bucky said, his tone of voice firm and deadly serious. “No matter what you see, no matter what you hear,  _ stay inside.  _ I want you safe, and the woods will not be safe tonight.”

“Why won't they be safe tonight?” Steve asked before he could help himself. “What's going on?”

“It's the Full—” Bucky cut himself off, and cursed. “It's just one of those nights where it will not be safe, but I'll protect you. Can you promise me?”

Steve eyed Bucky suspiciously. The man had clearly wanted to say something else in that moment,  _ that  _ had been obvious, but what? Was there some kind of gang that met in the woods on special nights? Was Bucky  _ in  _ this gang? Did they worship Satan, and sacrificed bunnies and stupid, skinny kids from Brooklyn? Was that maybe what Bucky was getting so worked up about?

“Of course,” Steve said, cocking his head a little as he offered Bucky a sweet smile. “I promise.”

Steve crossed his fingers behind his back, even as Bucky relaxed and offered him a grateful smile, as though he was relieved that Steve was agreeing to stay indoors.

Oh, if only the big, dumb, handsome man only  _ knew _ .

Steve was going to find out what was going on, even if it killed him.

~*~

Bucky butchered the rabbits, set the skins to dry, and packed up all the meat and bones, but he put aside enough for their supper. They weren't as fat as they may have been at the beginning of the season, but there was enough meat on them to make a warming stew, which Steve paired with carrots and potatoes.

Bucky didn't say much as he scarfed down his portion, and asked for seconds. He seemed more hungry than usual that evening, which was odd, given that it didn't appear as though he'd really exerted himself that day. 

Steve decided not to push it, considering he fully intended to follow Bucky that night.

Steve knew it was stupid, and possibly reckless, but he couldn't help it. Bucky kept so much so close to the chest, it was hard to learn anything about him, aside from his food preferences. Those were a little hard to miss, in particular when the man ate like a wild animal most of the time.

Even tentative questions about his family were brushed off or blatantly ignored, save for when Bucky bluntly told him, “stop asking me. It's not your business.”

Steve had stopped, because Bucky had appeared in that moment to be very close to snapping. He had even bared his teeth like an angry dog, which gave Steve the message loud and clear:  _ back off _ .

His curiosity was just driving his  _ nuts. _ He needed to know something— _ anything  _ about Bucky.

Bucky headed out just before sunset, but not before offering Steve a hasty goodbye. Steve played his part, asking what Bucky would want for breakfast, and simply said, “ _ not oatmeal _ ,” before he rushed out of the door. 

Steve watched Bucky disappear in the woods almost at a run, and not long after, Steve heard a few yips and hollers bleed back through the trees. While the sounds were clearly human, there was still a distinct animalistic element to the sounds, which puzzled Steve more than ever, but at least confirmed that Bucky was going to see other people, and wasn't wandering off alone.

He couldn't work out if that was a good or bad thing, but Steve figured he'd find out soon enough.

~*~

Steve waited about an hour before he put his plan into motion, just in case Bucky came back. 

When Bucky didn't return, Steve hastily grabbed Bucky's spare boots and tugged them on, winding twine around the legs of them to keep them in place, given that Bucky's feet were much larger than his own.

Then, Steve tugged on several sweaters along with a pair of thick winter gloves and a hat. He might not be trekking through the tundra by any means, but he did know that his small, skinny body got cold much quicker than that of a bigger man, and he didn't want to risk getting sick out there. 

As a final touch, Steve grabbed one oil lamp and a book of matches, both of which he stuffed into the gargantuan pockets of his slacks before he deemed himself ready to set out.

Steve stepped out into the cold, his cheeks only faintly stinging from the light breeze that filtered through the clearing that the cabin sat in. To one side under a wooden lean-to was a pyramid of chopped wood, enough to last a good long while by the look of it. On the other side of the cabin was a twenty-foot high structure, almost shaped like an uneven H, which Steve realized must be what Bucky called the  _ meat pole _ . Large sections of meat had been hung from it by hooks and rope, along with sacks of smaller animals. It was high enough that bears weren't likely to reach it, but the scratches near the base gave Steve the impression that it wasn't for lack of trying.

Steve shook his head, and looked towards the area Bucky had left in; he needed to focus on his task.

Bucky hadn't exactly taken a true path, and seemed to have merely dove into where the woods where they were deepest. 

Luckily, Bucky's footprints were clear and easy to follow.

Steve followed them slowly, using the impressions left by his companion as a guide, certain that he could sneak in and hurry off without Bucky even noticing that he'd been there, even with the dying sunlight.

_ I just want to see, that's all,  _ Steve thought desperately as he walked.  _ I just want to know  _ something  _ about him, and he's so cagey about every damn thing. I'll just go, see what he's up to, and go back. That's all. _

Steve continued to weave through the trees, attempting to convince himself that this was anywhere in the realm of a good idea. After all, Bucky had said time and again that Steve was incredibly noisy when it came to moving through the woods. For all his impulsive planning, Bucky would probably hear him coming regardless.

And yet, despite this knowledge, Steve kept going. He slipped and slid in the oversized boots, nearly falling more than once, and he had to clap a hand to his mouth in order to stifle his yelps of surprise when his feet fell upon hidden ice.

By the time Bucky's impressions in the snow had stopped it was full dark outside, and the full moon was beginning to rise. Had it not been for the thick trees all around him, it would have been more than enough to light his way. 

To account for the trees impeding his view, Steve lit a match occasionally to ensure that he was heading in the right direction. He didn't want to risk Bucky spotting him by lighting the oil lamp, but for now the matches were enough to help him orient himself before he moved on.

When Steve began to hear voices, he carefully slowed his pace. He could recognize Bucky's low, gruff tone, even at a distance, but paired with it were other voices—ones he didn't recognize.

Steve stepped as lightly as he could, and hoped that it would be enough to hide his presence. At the very least, Bucky made no sounds that might indicate that he knew Steve was there.

It took far longer than Steve would have liked to catch up with Bucky, but when he did, he was privy to the strangest sight he'd ever witnessed.

Bucky was standing in a small clearing with a few other men, laughing and joking. It was all very normal, like a group of friends meeting at a bar for a drink.

Except for the fact that they were all  _ naked _ .

Steve had no idea how they could stand it. None of them were even shivering or showed any outward signs of being the least bit uncomfortable by the temperature. The smallest of the group, an Asian man, was hopping from foot to foot, but it seemed more like he was impatient, instead of cold.

“Man,” burst out the largest one. “We sure miss you back home, Buck,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, but warm. “Moons just ain't the same without you trying to corral us all.”

“I didn't choose to leave, you know that, Dum-Dum,” Bucky replied, his shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “I couldn't beat Alpha, so I had to go, them's the rules.”

“And you couldn't just settle with being Beta, huh?” the Asian asked gruffly. A black man with a warm, cheery face sniggered, and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Our little Bucky's way too ambitious for somethin' like that,” he said, and all the men laughed in pleasant agreement.

Steve felt himself relax as he watched them. Really, he had no idea what he expected to find when he followed Bucky, and save for their weird choice of no clothes in the dead of winter, it was really nothing out of the ordinary—

“ _ It's coming. _ ”

The words were expelled like a gasp from one of the other men, and when Steve focused his attention on the group again, his eyes went wide when he saw Bucky drop to his knees with a moan of pain.

At first, Steve couldn't understand why none of the other men were helping him, until he realised quite suddenly that it was affecting all of them—three of the men fell onto all fours, another stayed standing even as he shook violently with convulsions. The last let out a noise that seemed to be somewhere between a moan and a snarl. 

Steve moved to step into the clearing and help the men, not sure what he could even do, but concurrently knowing he had to do  _ something _ . He couldn't leave them to suffer.

His eyes fell on Bucky again, and he gasped involuntarily at what he saw.

Bucky was on all fours like the others. He had never been an overly hairy man, but now he seemed to be sprouting hairs from every follicle—deep, black hairs, like the midnight sky, save for one of his forearms, which burst forth with white hair.

Or, rather, fore _ leg _ .

Steve felt sick, both nauseous and dizzy. 

It wasn't true.

It  _ couldn't  _ be true.

“That's  _ impossible _ ,” Steve whispered, staring at the enormous, bear-sized wolf that had been Bucky mere moments before.

Steve's near-blinding disbelief shifted to numb fear when Bucky's enormous head swivelled in in his direction, and the wolf's lip curled back.

Steve did not give himself time to think.

He ran.


	4. Run, Rabbit, Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for April 19th. Enjoy!

Chapter Four – Run, Rabbit, Run

Steve didn't know how to run.

Or, rather, he didn't know how to run in boots too big, in the dark woods, in the winter, and with lungs that refused to work properly.

His chest felt tight as he tried to run. Even pacing himself at a feeble jog left him gasping weakly. It hurt to breathe, and every breath made his head spin. 

He needed to breathe—so why did it  _ hurt? _

Steve knew he hadn't gotten far. It couldn't have been more than a few yards, and his head began to throb from the lack of oxygen. In times like this, his mother's words came to him, as clear as a bell—

“ _ Breathe, son, you have to remember to breathe. _ ”

It sounded so stupid to anyone who did not suffer from the affliction, but it didn't make it any less true—he either breathed too little or too much. Sometimes, he had to remember to breathe at all.

It didn't help much now; already he was out of breath. He staggered and grabbed his knees, even as his chest ached worse than ever. He looked back, but the wolf wasn't there. 

_ Bucky  _ wasn't there.

Steve slowed his pace, gasping as he tried to calm down. It was harder to breathe when he was panicked. As he did so, he tried to rationalize what he'd seen even as his mind  _ refused  _ to think of the word for what he'd witnessed—that impossible thing, something that had leapt straight out of the pages of a storybook, and was not based in  _ any _ kind of reality.

_ It's not real, it can't be real...I must be losing my mind. _

Steve's legs gave out, and he fell into the snow. He stretched his arms out, his breath shuddering into his lungs with a weak gasp and cough, when at the same moment he felt something cold press against his cheek.

Steve froze.

How did  _ it  _ find him? And so silently?

Nervously, Steve looked up. 

The wolf stood next to him. It was black as pitch, with one foreleg interwoven with mottled white fur. His eyes were the same stormy grey as always, and even if Steve hadn't been witness to his horrifying transformation, he  _ knew  _ those eyes.

Without a doubt, this was Bucky. 

Bucky curled back his lip, and Steve froze. He gasped sharply, but his shock and confusion only heightened when Bucky did not lunge at him as expected, but instead he walked closer to Steve, and stood over him.

_ What is he doing?!  _ Steve wondered in a panic as Bucky eased down on top of him, entirely shielding him from view.

The position wasn't enough to compress his lungs, and it left Steve with more than enough space to breathe. The heat radiating from Bucky warmed the air enough for his breaths to no longer hurt as acutely, even as Bucky continued to growl above him. 

In the space between Bucky's vocalizations, Steve heard the sound of other wolves. 

Clearly, the pack—or whatever they were—had followed them. 

And yet, Steve recognized that Bucky was protecting him, even now. It was difficult to say if Bucky was protecting him because he somehow seemed to  _ know  _ him, even in this form, or if he just didn't want to share his meal with the others.

In truth, though seeing Bucky like this was terrifying, somehow Steve genuinely doubted that it was the latter. He was far too skinny to make much of a meal for a creature as big as a werewolf.

The notion almost made Steve giggle—he was thinking of werewolves like it was  _ normal _ .

Bucky stepped off of Steve, placing himself between the feeble human and the pack, his lip curled back as he continued to growl in clear warning, and enabling Steve to catch sight of the little cluster of werewolves. There was a large grey wolf, a brown wolf, and a black wolf at the front, but the glinting of eyes from behind them told Steve that there was probably more behind them.

Steve didn't know what to do as he lay there in the snow like some sort of idiot, the cold seeping into his clothes, while Bucky remained unmoving, his entire stance warning the other wolves to  _ back off _ . 

Amazingly, the stand-off did not end in bloodshed, and Steve watched as the creatures melted into the woods silently, and only their paw prints told him that they'd been there at all.

As the growling faded away, Bucky turned back to Steve and licked his cheek once, almost in apology. Steve smiled as he sat up shakily and looked around, and shivered when he heard a distant howl. 

Steve was on the cusp of asking Bucky where the others had gone when he remembered that Bucky couldn't really answer him in this form. At the same moment, Bucky curled up around him, making Steve jump a little in surprise. As Bucky did so, he emitted a series of soft growling sounds, almost like he was purring.

His huge body encased Steve in warm, coarse fur, and Bucky positioned himself so that they faced each other. Bucky was watching him intently, eyes wide, and now that Steve had stopped panicking (for the moment, at least), he noticed that Bucky's eyes were no longer entirely grey, but flecked with gold, like flashes of lightning in a storm. 

“You're...” 

Steve still couldn't say it, even as Bucky inched forward and licked Steve's cheek lightly. 

Steve shivered as he pillowed his head uncertainly against Bucky's neck, and the werewolf rumbled in clear pleasure, then shifted again, shielding his human charge from the wind.

~*~

The night was long and cold, but with Bucky's body warming him, Steve was able to stave off the worst of it. 

Steve abandoned his sense of awkwardness in favour of survival, and burrowed deep into the odd embrace. Bucky was quick to move them to a hollow of trees when the wind picked up, digging them something not unlike a little burrow, and he looked to Steve, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a happy golden retriever looking for praise.

Steve couldn't imagine that sitting in the snow for the rest of the night would be all that comfortable, but in the confusion of all that had happened, he couldn't be sure which way the cabin resided. He didn't trust himself enough to try and get back on his own, and staying with Bucky at least promised that he'd be able to stay warm throughout the night.

Steve crawled awkwardly into the hollow, and Bucky curled up around him again, ensconcing him in warmth. Oddly, even as Steve lay there, Bucky nuzzling his cheek affectionately and licking the moisture off his hair from both sweat and falling snow, he felt no fear at all—not anymore, at least.

_ How weird _ , Steve thought as he sat there, subjecting himself to a wolfish tongue bath, but at least no longer cold.  _ I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people, and I don't feel like Bucky is dangerous—why is that? Aren't wolves...dangerous? _

Steve didn't have a good answer for himself, beyond the knowledge that this was  _ Bucky _ , and he would never hurt him.

The night passed much in the same way, of Bucky protecting him from every conceivable threat that meandered into their hollow. Every time the other wolves came to look in on them Bucky would hide him under his bulk and growl in warning, and they were always quick to rush off, yipping as they went like a pack of scolded puppies. On their last check-in, they left something bloody and steaming in the snow, which Bucky only investigated after he appeared to be certain the others were gone, and Bucky gobbled up whatever it was in a few quick snaps of his powerful jaws.

Bucky fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, but even with Bucky's warmth surrounding him, Steve wasn't able to get comfortable enough to sleep. Instead he watched his surroundings and stargazed, ignoring both his rumbling stomach and tightening bladder. Unfortunately, the few times Steve had tried to get up and take a piss, Bucky would growl and bite at the clothes, refusing to let him go anywhere.

For one moment, Steve almost pissed  _ on  _ Bucky in revenge, but he had no idea what that would mean to a wolf ruled by instinct. 

Plus, that would also mean he'd be stuck with just his urine smell for company all night, and Steve didn't like the sound of that either. 

As a result, Steve crossed his legs and did his best to think of anything but water, even managing to doze a few times, given that he had been utterly exhausted by his run through the forest and the subsequent asthma attack that had followed. 

When the morning did at last come, Steve was initially roused by the loud, sickening sound of bones snapping. 

At first, Steve had no idea where the noise was coming from. He jolted up with a grunt, looking around wildly until he realised that he was losing his supposed fur blanket. He turned to Bucky, his mouth dropping open as he watched the wolf shrink in size, lose his fur, and he reformed into the shape of a human man.

A  _ naked  _ man, at that.

Steve blushed furiously, unable to stop his eyes from raking over Bucky—he was leanly muscular, his chest and abdomen rippling with strength, even in sleep. His ass was pert and perfectly rounded, with thick legs dusted lightly with dark hair. Those same dark hairs evenly covered his chest and stomach, not thick enough to be off-putting, but just thin enough to be attractive. 

And below that...

_ Oh, God. _

Steve didn't want to look, just to be polite, but he couldn't help it. It was  _ right there _ , just below Bucky's beautifully trim waist, like it was waiting for him.

Even soft and brushed up against the snow, it was a glorious sight. 

It was thick and long, with the balls looking deliciously heavy and nestled in a bushy mass of black hairs. Steve felt his own cock twitch as he continued to stare at it, and when Bucky let out a small groan in the same moment it snapped Steve back to reality, and he jolted to his feet, rushing away to  _ finally  _ have a piss.

_ Fuck me sideways and call me a queen—Bucky is a  _ werewolf.

Even after that impossibly weird night, it was still difficult to believe that it was true. 

Steve did his business far away from his sleepy companion that the smell wasn't likely to bother him, though in truth Steve wasn't sure how good a werewolf's sense of smell was.

Initially, Steve thought he'd managed it. He pissed against a tree at the far side of the space, a good fifteen feet away, and as he tucked himself away he smiled a little, confident that he'd managed to keep from waking the werewolf up. He moved back over to Bucky and lay down next to him, back in the hollow, like he'd never left.

Bucky growled.

It wasn't a human growl either—it was most definitely a wolfish growl, one until that point Steve didn't think a human mouth could vocalise so realistically. 

“I...I told you to stay in last night,” Bucky rasped, the heavy sound of his fatigue making it sound more like he was on the tail end of a bad cold or fever instead of waking up from spending the whole night in the form of an enormous wolf, and he squinted at Steve through lidded eyes, like he wasn't completely awake yet. 

“Yeah, well, I didn't listen,” Steve said, his voice almost accusing, and Bucky winced. “Can you make it back to the cabin? I'll make you food and you can explain everything as long as you keep them pearly whites to yourself, if you know what I mean.”

Bucky seemed to, and pulled himself sluggishly to his feet, apparently unconcerned with his nudity, and seemed more concerned with not appearing as though he was tired or in pain. 

Despite this, Steve could not help but notice the distinct lack of fluidity to Bucky's movements, and he winced when Bucky stretched, and he heard his arms and back crunch loudly.

“Come on,” Bucky said, “let me get you home.”

Steve thought of pointing out the obvious—that Bucky was naked and Steve was most certainly not, but given that he did not appear that cold, maybe the remark was justified. More than that, Steve was markedly relieved that Bucky did not appear angry that Steve had followed him. In fact, he looked almost relieved, though Steve wasn't entirely sure why.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agreed with a faint smile, and cautiously stepped up to Bucky, coiling an arm around his midsection, and subsequently discovered that Bucky felt almost feverish from how hot his skin was. 

The idea had been to explain to Bucky that he was touching him to help him get home, given how visibly exhausted the werewolf seemed to be, and how most straight guys seemed to freak out at such familiar contact. 

Except, Bucky  _ didn't  _ freak out.

Instead, Bucky responded in kind, wrapping a muscled arm around Steve's shoulders, and pulled him flush against Bucky's side.

Unable to stifle his silly grin at this development, Steve tightened his arm around Bucky, and let his werewolf guide him home.

~*~

The walk back home was quiet. Steve didn't even have the heart to think of it as anything but that—the little cabin felt more like home to him than his stepfather's house ever had. 

Steve also found himself oddly relieved by the pleasant silence between them—in truth, he didn't really have any idea how to talk to Bucky at the moment, and saying something like, “ _ so, you're a werewolf, huh? _ ” sounded too incredibly stupid to even  _ try _ and verbalise. 

Steve couldn't say he didn't mind this new revelation, and though part of him wished Bucky had  _ told  _ him, a part of him could understand why he hadn't. After all, he wasn't very likely to  _ believe _ something like that until he'd seen it with his own eyes. 

Steve's torrent of conflicting thoughts came to a halt when he saw Bucky stumble just as the cabin came into view. Without thinking, Steve tensed his arm around the werewolf in order to steady him, and Bucky noticeably leaned into Steve's hold, though it didn't look like he was really happy about it.

Steve guided Bucky into the cabin, and into the bedroom. Bucky began to protest the use of Steve's bed, but fell silent when Steve gave him a  _ look. _

“Lie down while I find you some clothes,” Steve commanded as he let go of Bucky, and did not move until Bucky eased back onto the bed with a disgruntled huff.

“I'm fine, Steve—” Bucky began as Steve moved over to the cabinet and dug out some deerskin pants and an overlarge sweater that was more likely to fit Bucky's bulkier frame, along with a pair of thick, woollen socks. To Bucky's protest, Steve let out a soft, derisive huff.

“You're dead on your feet, Buck,” Steve proclaimed as he walked back to the bed with the clothing bundled in his arms. “It's  _ your  _ turn to rest up while I take care of you.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to argue, but in the same breath seemed to think better of it, perhaps sensing Steve's unwillingness to budge on the issue. Instead, he lifted his arms above his head, and Steve smirked a little as he tugged the sweater over the werewolf's head.

It seemed to be lucky that Bucky was too tired to argue, and instead he silently let Steve dress him like a doll. It didn't take long for Bucky to fall asleep after that, too fatigued to even offer up a proper thank-you, though he did mumble something as he slumped back onto the bed.

Steve smiled as he watched the lines of exhaustion seemingly disappear from Bucky's face as he relaxed into the folds of the blankets, apparently enjoying the softness of the mattress despite his prior complaints that it was  _ too soft _ .

“Funny...” Steve muttered to himself, not sure if he meant his latest discovery, or how sweet Bucky looked when he slept, but shook off the musing as he turned away from the werewolf, made his way to the root cellar in order to wrangle up some breakfast for the pair of them.


	5. Shock and Awe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The next update is scheduled for...My birthday! May 3rd :3 Enjoy!

Chapter Five – Shock and Awe

Steve was really in the mood for some steak and eggs, but neither ingredient seemed to be available, and he opted instead for hotcakes and fried rabbit, along with plenty of coffee for himself. 

When he brought the platter of food to a sleepy Bucky, the werewolf grumbled something about the meat being overdone, but Steve ignored it as he sat down in a chair next to the bed with his own plate. 

“Well, when you're less tired you can show me how werewolves like their meat,” Steve shot back, even as Bucky glared at him from under his hair, and ate the hotcakes with his fingers, instead of using the available fork that Steve had provided.

“You're not scared of me.”

Bucky seemed to want to ask Steve that, but it escaped him like a statement. Steve smiled at him faintly.

“When I passed out in the woods you rescued me, you've let me stay here, and last night you didn't try to eat me. You even protected me from those other guys. I got no reason to be scared of you.”

“I don't understand,” Bucky stated again, before he crammed the second hotcake into his mouth. “My...my pack said humans are bad. But...you're not.”

“I can't speak for all people,” Steve admitted with a shrug as he gazed at the werewolf. “I know if you get troubles in your own life, it can make you more kind. Ma always said that I was lookin' out for the little guy. She thought she was a real comedian, my Ma...”

Steve trailed off as he smiled sadly. Thinking of her now, it was still hard to understand why she'd let Ed talk her into dumping him like this. 

“But you're good,” Bucky filled in slowly, and Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“I like to think I'm not so bad,” Steve replied, and that got a soft chuckle out of the brunet. “What I really wanna know is about you—see, I never met a werewolf before. How did it...happen?”

“Happen?” Bucky asked, and cocked his head to the side like a curious puppy. 

“How did you get this way?” Steve explained, and Bucky blinked with visible confusion. 

“I was...born like this?” Bucky replied, framing his response like a question, and Steve blinked at him in equal confusion. Bucky, apparently sensing this, added, “pretty much my whole pack was. Turned wolves aren't very common.”

“Turned...” Steve echoed thoughtfully. “You mean when someone is turned  _ into  _ one of you guys?”

“Yes,” Bucky affirmed with a short nod. “Alpha didn't believe in outsiders. He wanted us to stay with our own kind.”

“Alpha is your...leader?” Steve ventured, and Bucky nodded again as he continued to pick at his breakfast. “If you guys are so against outsiders, why are you out here, all alone?” Steve asked, then after a beat, something else occurred to him and he asked, “why did you even help  _ me _ ?”

“Pack Law,” Bucky explained with a mournful sigh as his gaze dropped again to the remnants of his breakfast. “My pack is not a bad pack, just...strict. I always wanted to be Alpha, and I trained hard my whole life. If you challenge the Alpha for his position, the loser must leave. I lost.”

“Oh.” Steve grimaced at how gormless he sounded, and moved to say something else, but Bucky began to speak before he had the chance to.

“I helped you because I can't  _ not  _ help,” Bucky explained emphatically gesturing vaguely with his hands as he spoke. “I thought I could...well, if you were bad, I could just...”

He trailed off, apparently incapable of finishing his sentence, but Steve was pretty sure he knew what Bucky was getting at.

“Like whoever owned this cabin first?” Steve ventured, and Bucky paled.

“I...I...Steve...” Bucky stammered, his voice shaking with genuine terror, and he fixed his gaze on Steve with wide eyes. “Please, I won't do that to you. I know it was bad, but...but...I was  _ so  _ hungry, and it had been  _ weeks _ since I had caught anything, and...and...”

He dropped his gaze to his lap, but he continued to shake. Beyond fear, Steve could see legitimate guilt in Bucky's expression. It gave Steve the impression that Bucky hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, but whoever that guy was just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Bucky reacted like his wolf counterpart—even a normal wolf would eat a human if it was hungry enough, and Bucky was definitely bigger than any  _ normal  _ wolf.

“I didn't mean to,” Bucky whispered softly. “It was my first season out here alone, and I'd never hunted for myself before. I found him under the Moon. When I woke up the next morning...”

Bucky trailed off again, and shuddered with another wave of newfound guilt before he added, “and...once I felt better, I dug him a grave under a tree. I'm a werewolf, but I'm not a monster.”

“I believe you, Buck,” Steve murmured softly, and Bucky's gaze snapped up to him in alarm, almost like he didn't wholly believe Steve's sentiment. 

Instead, Bucky's gaze dropped back down to his plate, a heavy silence falling between the two. Steve sat at the werewolf's bedside, at a loss for what to say.

~*~

Despite the heavy conversation, or perhaps because of it, Bucky had utterly exhausted himself. He dropped off to sleep with the platter of unfinished food still in his lap, like a little kid with the evening's last cup of warm milk and honey. 

Steve took it away, careful to be quiet as he gently tucked the man in before he tiptoed out of the room. The moment he'd shut the door, he finally allowed his pleasant exterior to fall.

_ What  _ had he gotten himself into?

  
Steve walked on stiff legs to the kitchen, eating the remnants of Bucky's meal as well as his own, forcing himself to go through the motions in order to keep himself from falling apart. 

_ Bucky is a werewolf. _

_ Bucky killed a man. _

_ Bucky killed and  _ _ ate _ _ a man. _

Steve honestly didn't know which fact to panic over first. Of course, Steve had had an inkling that this wasn't Bucky's home before—he was so unfamiliar with its inner workings, the clothes in the cupboard that weren't his—it all made sense now. 

Though Steve  _ really _ wished it didn't.

What was stopping Bucky from hurting  _ him? _ What if they ran out of food the deeper into winter they got, and Bucky started to view  _ him  _ as some kind of walking roast beef?

Steve shuddered at the thought, and for once thanked his lucky stars that he was so small and skinny. To a predator like Bucky, he probably didn't look like much of a meal.

_ But then, wolves always pick off the weak ones first... _

Steve shivered again, and he felt his breakfast roil in his stomach.

Steve did his best to distract himself from his panicked thoughts. He cleaned the kitchen of the breakfast dishes, and he built up a fire in the grate. They were running low on firewood, so Steve went out to gather up some of the cut stuff, and hefted it in in embarrassingly small armfuls while he imagined just how much wood Bucky's big, muscular arms could probably carry.

That mental image in itself was almost enough to make his fear at all of Bucky's revelations falter. 

Almost.

“Ma, I wish you were here...” Steve whispered, then he remembered.

His mother had abandoned him too.

Steve slumped in front of the catching fire and stared into the flames, lost in thought.

Why did everything have to go so  _ wrong? _

~*~

Bucky slept for the better part of the day. Steve made a rabbit stew with potatoes and carrots, seasoned heavily with thyme and savory for supper, and predictably, Bucky wandered out at the smell of food.

“Want some overcooked meat?” Steve offered, but the attempted levity seemed to fall flat when Bucky regarded him with noticeable apprehension.

“You smell scared,” Bucky replied bluntly. “Of me?”

“You shouldn't smell people without asking first,” Steve shot back, and Bucky heaved a sigh, though whether it was a vocalization of annoyance or acceptance Steve couldn't tell. “You want some supper or not?”

“Okay.”

They ate at the table, and Bucky didn't offer up a single word of complaint or praise for the meal Steve had prepared. Bucky kept looking at him with a sad look in his eyes, like there was something he wanted to say, but just couldn't say it. 

Part of Steve wanted to just snap at him to  _ spit it out,  _ but at the same time, he wasn't sure his brain could handle any more potential revelations. He needed a little time to properly process everything before anything else was added to the pot. 

After supper, Bucky dragged out a number of animal skins and sat by the fire with them. They were all weird sizes, and at first Steve thought Bucky was just cold, but soon realized the werewolf was working on what he had initially promised Steve—he was making him winter clothes.

Steve knew the clothes were for him, given that the sizes were obviously too small for Bucky to wear. He was stitching them together with a bone needle and thread made out of dried sinew of some kind of animal, which Steve had been fine with until he saw Bucky suck on the end of the thread, and he wrinkled his nose. 

If Bucky noticed Steve's reaction, he didn't respond to it, and instead kept his focus on the task in front of him while Steve tried to find a way to save the leftovers of their dinner.

Not for the first time, Steve sorely wished that Bucky had an ice box—that would've made things a whole lot easier. Failing that, Steve took the whole pot outside with the cover on, and carefully balanced the whole thing in one of Bucky's meat bags before he hung it from the rack where the rest of the food was stored, to keep it out of the paws of any scavenger who might smell it.

“No ice box, my foot,” Steve muttered as he climbed down the ladder that led to the meat rack, “the outside is one big ice box, at least for now...”

Steve didn't want to think about how he'd conserve food once spring came—he'd probably have to learn how to can, like his Ma used to. There also seemed to be plenty of space around the cabin not overshadowed by trees, which would help him grow some vegetables...

Steve shook his head, cutting the train of thought short. It had been established that he'd be  _ gone  _ in the spring. This house  _ wasn't  _ his home.

Despite his confusion around Bucky, that thought still made him ache inside. Already he felt more at home here than he  _ ever _ had back at the farm with his ma, stepfather, and stepsiblings. The idea of leaving it made him feel indescribably sad.

_ I'll burn that bridge when I get to it, _ Steve thought as he scrubbed a hand over his face.  _ Right now, I just wanna enjoy this peace and quiet.  _

When Steve made it back inside, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table, looking particularly pensive. 

Two mugs sat in front of him, and Steve could smell coffee on the air, which was odd, as he knew that Bucky did  _ not _ like coffee. The partially-finished outer clothes had been abandoned on the sofa, as though Bucky had gotten distracted by something partway through working on them.

“Uh, what's going on, Buck?” Steve ventured hesitantly, not liking the serious look on the other man's face, but his scowl only deepened when his eyes met Steve's. 

“We have to talk.  _ I  _ have to talk. I will tell you about my kind, and I hope you won't be as scared of me.” Bucky paused, but when Steve opened his mouth, Bucky immediately cut him off. “I  _ know  _ you're afraid, Steve, and I  _ hate _ it. I want you to not be scared anymore. So I'm going to tell you, then you'll feel better, and everything will be okay again.”

Bucky's speech sounded less like a request and more of a demand;  _ I will tell you this, and you will stop being scared of me, pointe finale.  _

And yet, Steve had the oddest sense that it was just Bucky's brutish attempt at helping him feel better about this whole mess. He really did understand why Bucky didn't tell him everything right off the bat—he never would've believed it. In truth, even killing the owner of the cabin made a sick sort of sense—if what Bucky said was true, he had been starving, trapped as a wolf under the moon, and happened to stumble across the poor guy. Any hungry predator would do the same; when push came to shove, some people probably would, too.

Steve knew that that didn't make what Bucky did right by any definition, but it just made it easier to digest. It reminded Steve both that Bucky was most certainly not starving now (evidenced mostly by how Steve hadn't gotten ripped apart during the full moon), and it seemed, for whatever reason, like Bucky wanted Steve to be here, and wasn't likely to hurt him any time soon.

“Yeah, we should probably talk,” Steve agreed, and watched as Bucky grabbed one of the mugs and shoved it into Steve's hands, making a little of the coffee trickle over the back of his hand, making it burn slightly. He glanced down at the mug, and grimaced a little. It looked like Bucky had scooped the grounds straight into the mug itself along with some hot water, and probably enough grounds to make him  _ hear _ colours. 

Steve didn't remark on it though. Instead, he smiled a little as he stepped down to the table after he'd shed his outdoor clothes, and sat across from Bucky.

“So, what d'you want to tell me?” Steve asked, hoping that Bucky would recognize the small difference in his choice of words—he wanted Bucky to understand the distinction; inviting Bucky to only tell him what he felt comfortable with, and no more than that.

“I guess I need to start with the basics,” Bucky said with a defeated sort of sigh as he all but fell into the chair across from him. “'Cause you know that my pack is very...um...”

“...nervous around humans?” Steve offered, and Bucky huffed a humourless sort of laugh. 

“Something like that, yeah,” Bucky replied, smirking a little as he gazed across the table at Steve, his expression so soft that Steve almost dared to think that it was  _ loving _ . 

Except that was ridiculous...wasn't it?

After all, Bucky was  _ straight _ . 

...Wasn't he?

“Werewolves are ruled by instinct, always,” Bucky said, drawing Steve's attention back to him, “it is not only the moon that rules us. I was always told that scent means more to us than it does to humans, and humans are more...um... _ delicate _ .”

Steve made a face at that, but didn't interrupt. Even so, Bucky chuckled warmly, offering Steve an achingly sweet smile that nearly melted his heart.

“I can roll around in the snow in just my skin and not get too cold,” Bucky continued, “and I can change into my wolf at will, not just at the Moon.” 

“Does silver hurt you, like in the stories?” Steve asked curiously, which caused Bucky to freeze, his expression clearly hesitant, before he nodded faintly to Steve's question.

“It burns,” Bucky said softly, as though he feared someone overhearing them. “My skin bubbles like I stuck it into a fire.”

“If it helps, I don't plan to do that to you,” Steve offered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and if he wasn't mistaken, he saw the mountain man blush a little. “I don't even  _ got  _ any silver. That's expensive stuff.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Bucky said, a smile returning to his lips, his eyes lighting up with something not unlike hope as he regarded the human. “It does help.”

“So, werewolves,” Steve prompted, and felt a small thrill of relief pass through him when he managed to keep his voice steady. “You guys like to smell things, and can be a wolf whenever you want.”

“Yes.” Bucky nodded, though it still seemed to take him a moment to find the thread of conversation again before he continued. “You see, we're very protective of our pack, or...people under our care. Alpha always said that, but he wasn't really big on sharing emotions, he was very...”

“Gruff?” Steve offered, and Bucky smiled at Steve appreciatively.

“Yes, gruff.” Bucky smiled again. He seemed to be doing that more since he'd recovered (more or less) from the previous night's full moon. “I didn't understand that until I had someone to take care of.”

Bucky levelled his gaze with Steve pointedly, and Steve felt his entire face flood with colour. He tried to hide behind the mug Bucky had pressed on him, sipping it a little, and it was a true marvel that the top of his head didn't blow off from how much grounds Bucky had dumped into the cup.

_ First thing tomorrow, I am teaching this guy how to brew coffee properly... _

“You see, I...well...that day that I found you, I was checking my territory, because I could feel that someone had entered it.” Bucky continued, his gaze dropping back down to his own mug, though he looked more thoughtful than nervous, now. “I was ready to fight or kill whoever it was. I'm not trying to sound harsh, but rogues can be dangerous—”

“—rogues?” Steve interrupted curiously, “what rogues?”

“Rogue werewolves,” Bucky explained. Amazingly, he didn't look at all offended by Steve's interruption. “We call packless werewolves rogues, because they usually don't abide by our laws. They're very dangerous, and I know a few of 'em have had their eye on my territory this winter. Most werewolves won't admit it, but a human house is a perfect place to ride out the winter. 

“Anyway, I went out to check, and I found you,” Bucky continued, still not looking at Steve as he spoke. “You were like I said—half in and half out of your clothes, like the cold was making you a little...sick. I don't know. My ma used to call it  _ hypo _ -something...I can't remember. But...but...”

Bucky's voice wavered, and died. He looked both thoughtful and nervous, and when he lifted his gaze again, he regarded Steve like he was preparing to drop some sort of bombshell onto him. Steve tensed, almost like he was waiting for a physical blow.

“I smelled it when I found you, Steve,” Bucky whispered, and Steve raised his eyebrows in both surprise and confusion.  _ What  _ was Bucky talking about?

“Smelled what, Buck?”

“It's you, Steve,” Bucky replied. “You're my True Mate.”


	6. True Mates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Birthday to me! Ye Gods, I can't believe I'm 31 now XD please enjoy! Next update is scheduled for May 17th.

Chapter Six – True Mates

Silence fell between the pair. Steve tightened his hold on his coffee mug, fairly certain that if he hadn't, he may have dropped it all over himself.

“I'm...I'm your  _ what? _ ” Steve breathed, his voice shaking, but Bucky's expression did not change. Clearly, this wasn't some sort of elaborate joke. “Wh-What does that  _ mean? _ ”

“It means your scent...it tells me that you belong to me,” Bucky explained, his eyes seeming to almost glow with want, like he'd been doing all that he could to tamp down on his desire until now. “You're  _ mine, _ Steve. I can smell it.”

Steve had no idea what to say. 

Carefully, he set down the coffee mug he'd been holding, then slowly stood up. Bucky's eyes widened, and he lurched forward as though to grab at Steve, but froze when Steve lifted a hand to stop him. 

“Buck...I...this...this is a lot,” Steve stammered out, realizing that he wasn't exactly  _ afraid  _ of Bucky after his possessive albeit heartfelt proclamation, but merely...surprised. Of course, he'd wanted this, but the way Bucky had phrased it made him feel more than a little nervous. After all, back in Brooklyn he wasn't exactly known for sleeping with the same person more than once, and all this  _ meant to be  _ talk was a little much for him to take.

“But...you're mine,” Bucky insisted, sounding less sure of himself in that moment, and more like a puppy who had been scolded. “Why are you afraid? I can protect you—I'll  _ always  _ protect you.”

“Because first of all, I don't know you so good, Buck. I haven't exactly been here that long,” Steve retorted, the response coming out more harshly than he'd meant it, and he felt his heart constrict a little when Bucky visibly winced, but he wasn't about to slow down and  _ let  _ this guy walk all over him. “Second of all, people don't belong to people, no matter who they are. You can't just  _ claim  _ I belong to you like I'm your shirt or your favourite mug, or something. I'm a  _ person, _ I don't work like that.”

“But...but...” Bucky gazed back at him, eyes wide with alarm, which seemed to become more frantic when Steve didn't abruptly cave and accept Bucky's dominance over him. The man— _ no, werewolf _ , Steve reminded himself—appeared to be completely at a loss for what to do about this particular development, but at the same time he wasn't exactly trying to argue the point like he thought that he could  _ convince  _ Steve to let him do whatever he pleased—it was more like he had no clue how to process the notion of a rejection on something that Bucky seemed to consider sacred.

“Buck, look,” Steve said as he ran a hand through his hair in a motion of stress, and Steve did not miss how Bucky watched the movement with a look not unlike hunger in his eyes. That desperate  _ need  _ Bucky seemed to have for him was making Steve more than a little uneasy. “It's been a crazy couple of days, and I think if you cram anything else in on top of it, I'm gonna crack. I just...I need some time to get used to this whole  _ werewolf thing _ , then  _ maybe  _ you can take me out on the town, or woods in this case...and then we can see about this  _ mates  _ business. I don't really have a great record with the notion of going slow, but with you, I want to go slow, okay?”

In truth, Steve didn't really have a clear idea why he was so adamant about going slow with Bucky. Back in the city, it didn't take much more than a word or two with a nice-looking man before his ass was hitting the bedsheets, but this time, with a  _ wildly  _ attractive man practically begging to be with him, Steve found himself faltering.

_ Maybe because Bucky wants more than a quick fuck,  _ Steve thought as he gazed at the man before him.  _ He's the sort of person I can see myself settling down with, so maybe that's why it scares me so much—because I know that he wants it as much as I do. _

“I...I got it...” 

Bucky's soft voice jarred Steve out of his musings, and when he looked up, he saw Bucky had stood, and was shuffling dejectedly towards the door.

“But...you...you don't have to leave,” Steve said, his voice much more feeble than he would have liked, which caused Bucky to pause, turn, and offer the human a small, reassuring smile. 

“I'm not leaving for good, Steve,” Bucky said in a similarly soft voice. “I just need to think.”

Bucky continued outside, and Steve watched him go with a knot in his stomach. He hated to hurt Bucky who had been nothing but kind to him, but Steve just couldn't fathom sacrificing part of himself just to please this man. He'd seen how disastrous that could be when his mother had turned into a completely new person just to please Ed. 

No, Steve  _ couldn't  _ do that to himself. It hurt, but he had to take it slow; he couldn't let Bucky consume him.

A long, mournful howl suddenly sounded from outside, making Steve jump. He hastened to his feet and rushed to the door, and at the edge of the woods, Steve saw it—Bucky was in his wolf form, his clothes left folded neatly upon the stoop, and he seemed to be gazing forlornly into the deep woods.

“Man, I must've really hurt his feelings...” Steve mused as he watched Bucky lie down in the snow, his body rising and falling in a distinct, miserable sigh. 

Steve tried to do a little housework to give himself both time and space to think over what had happened, and why Bucky had insisted so strongly that they were  _ meant to be,  _ like something out of a fairy tale. Unfortunately, his eyes kept getting drawn back to the window, and the pouting werewolf beyond it. He felt bad that Bucky felt bad, but by the same token he didn't want to compromise himself by accepting Bucky's overt advances just because he felt guilty.

_ What am I gonna do about Bucky? _

Steve meandered from room to room, spending so long just moping that the morning's fire began to die down, forcing him to don a few layers and the overlarge boots, and head outside.

Halfway to the woodpile, Steve's gaze was drawn to Bucky once again. It wasn't exactly  _ warm  _ outside, but Bucky didn't seem uncomfortable in his little snow burrow that he'd dug for himself—he just looked sad. 

Steve didn't really know what to say to Bucky without it sounding like he was ignoring his own feelings to make the moping werewolf feel better. He'd gone over it what felt like a hundred times that day already, and he wasn't overly keen to hash out his thoughts on the subject yet again.

Instead, Steve turned back to the task at hand, and grunted as he began to tuck wood in his arms, only to find it much heavier than he'd been expecting, telling him that it would take easily half a dozen trips to and from the house to accrue all the wood that would be needed.

“Let me help.”

Bucky's voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and when Steve turned back around Bucky was naked— _ again _ . 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” Steve sputtered, “put some clothes on, why don't ya!”

“I want to help,” Bucky repeated, sounding like a sad puppy yet again, and pointedly ignoring Steve's remark about his lack of clothing. “I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“I'm not some fair maiden locked in a fucking— _ ow.” _

Steve hissed as he pulled his hand away from the woodpile he'd been reaching for, and found a splinter embedded deeply in his pointer finger.

Bucky immediately closed his labour-worn hands over Steve's injured one, his expression shifting from sad to concerned. He squeezed the limb once almost in silent reassurance, then reached out for the woodpile himself, loaded his arms up with way more wood than a normal man could probably carry, and sauntered back inside. 

Steve could feel himself blushing furiously as he watched Bucky's ass flex with each stride, like a perfect peach, and noted that amazingly, it wasn't even flushed with cold. 

Until Bucky let one rip, plunging Steve in a cloud of foul-smelling gas, which effectively brought him crashing back down to earth. 

_ I really gotta work on his manners where bodily functions are concerned,  _ Steve thought as he both tried to hold his breath and cough at the same time, which only resulted in him letting out some weird snorting sound instead of really saving him from the stink. 

“Are you all right, Steve?” Bucky asked, sounding genuinely concerned as he paused and turned around, giving Steve a delightful view of Bucky's cock again, even as he fought to keep his eyes at a respectful height.

“I will be if you learn to aim that lethal ass of yours somewhere else,” Steve retorted, which caused Bucky to merely roll his eyes, turn, and head the rest of the way inside without another backward glance.

~*~

Steve put the firewood away while he snapped at Bucky to  _ get some fucking clothes on _ , but this decision only resulted in Steve earning himself a few more splinters as he built up the fire and stacked the leftovers nearby reminding him yet again just how ill-suited he was to this rough outdoorsman sort of life. 

“Let me see your hands,” Bucky commanded when he finally returned, at last with a full set of clothes on, and Steve felt himself blush again as Bucky strode forward with purpose, and closed his hands gently, but firmly, around Steve's wrists. 

The touch felt almost electric, Bucky's warm hands closing around the narrow columns of flesh easily, making the werewolf's hands look bigger than they really were, and simultaneously emphasizing how small Steve truly was.

If Bucky noticed Steve's reaction at all, he did not remark on it. His focus was trained solely on the tiny flecks of wood embedded in Steve's fingers, his brow creased with worry. 

Using a pair of tweezers from his pocket, Bucky plucked each splinter out of Steve's skin, barely even reacting when Steve let out little gasps of pain each time. The splinters had embedded themselves deeply into Steve's skin, and for more than a few of them Bucky had to root around to make sure he got the whole thing out. Bucky then slapped an adhesive bandage on each nigh-microscopic wound, pointedly ignoring Steve when he remarked that that really wasn't necessary.

“Keep them dry,” Bucky said firmly, using his  _ commander  _ voice again as he gently grasped Steve's hands in his. “I don't want your wounds getting worse.”

In truth, Steve couldn't really see a wound from a splinter becoming  _ that  _ infected, but considering his medical track record, and paired with the endearing, pleading look in Bucky's eyes, Steve utterly lost the will to argue the point.

“All right, Buck,” Steve agreed with a weak smile, “I'll take real good care of 'em.”

~*~

In the coming days, Bucky insisted on doing all the dishes in order to keep Steve's hands dry, and Steve kept the bandages on (or replaced them with fresh ones) in spite of the fact that he was pretty sure the wounds were already healed. He'd tried to point this out to Bucky, but the stupid man wouldn't hear it, and kept insisting to keep the bandages on and his skin dry.

It had been cute initially, but as the days wore on, it began to veer closer to annoying, in particular when a blizzard blew into the area and forced Bucky inside for a full two day stretch. Unfortunately, it became clear all too quickly that Bucky did not do well with being  _ cooped up _ . 

“Steve, I think this stuff is rotten,” Bucky announced from the door of the root cellar, but Steve wasn't in much of a place to move and inspect the supposed rotten food when his arms were elbow-deep in sourdough. “I'm going to throw it away.”

When Steve did at last look up, he blanched.

“No,  _ wait! _ ”

It was too late. Bucky was already pouring the sourdough starter down the drain, his nose pinched with his opposite hand as the pungent, sour smell engulfed the kitchen. 

By some stroke of luck, Steve managed to yank his hands out of the dough and grabbed the mason jar out of the werewolf's hand before he managed to throw it all away, making Bucky yelp in surprise, which quickly shifted to confusion when Steve shot him with a nasty glare.

“You  _ dummy! _ ” Steve snapped, just barely reigning in the urge to slap the idiot upside the head. “Do you know how  _ long  _ it takes to make this stuff?”

“It smells like  _ my  _ feet,” Bucky protested, even as Steve put the lid back on and hid the starter away from the meddling werewolf. “No one wants to eat  _ that _ .”

“You know that nice bread I made?” Steve asked, which caused Bucky to nod, “and the  _ massive  _ batch I'm making right now?” again, another nod. “I need that stuff to make it. That's what makes it rise. I need it to last until winter's over, so that means no tossing it out, no matter how bad you think it smells.”

“I don't  _ think  _ it smells bad,” Bucky complained as Steve went back to kneading his dough, “it  _ does _ smell—wait, where are your bandages?”

“Took 'em off,” Steve replied distractedly. “I'm pretty sure getting used bandages in bread dough isn't sanitary.”

“But you're hurt!” Bucky insisted, his eyes widening. “Put them back on, before they get  _ worse! _ ”

“Mary, Mother of  _ God _ ,” Steve cried out in frustration as he shot Bucky with another glare. “Have you  _ always  _ been this much of a mother hen?! I'm  _ fine _ , Bucky. Just...stop being a pest. Go outside and play in the snowstorm, or go work on my clothes, or just... _ something.  _ You're drivin' me  _ crazy _ .”

With a dramatic huff Bucky stalked away, though thankfully nowhere near the root cellar. The last thing Steve needed was that stupid man to accidentally throw away any  _ more _ perfectly good food.

Though now that Bucky had left him to his own devices, Steve couldn't help but feel a little guilty for how he'd snapped at him. They were both suffering from cabin fever due to the storm, without even a radio to lighten the mood. Added to that, the tension between them from Bucky's little revelation was definitely getting worse, in particular when Steve's tactic for dealing with it had been to pretend that it had never happened at all.

“I should probably go apologize...” Steve muttered to himself as he divided the dough up, and formed it into four loaves. He covered them with a few kitchen towels, topped up the starter with the right amounts of flour and water, then it tucked away where Bucky wasn't likely to look—behind the oats and coffee.

When Steve went in search of Bucky, he found him sitting on the rug close to the fire, arranging more logs carefully on top of the glowing embers in order to keep it going. The man's expression was less angry and more sad, which tugged at Steve's heart more than he would have liked to admit. 

Steve didn't really know what to say, but he understood that Bucky hadn't been acting maliciously when he'd done that—he'd only been trying to help. But combined with Bucky's recent heartfelt admission, Steve had been more stressed out and less thoughtful in his responses than he normally would have been lately.

“Hey there,” Steve said as he sidled up to the werewolf and sat down next to him. And Bucky grunted to indicate he was listening, though he didn't turn to look at Steve. “Um...I'm real sorry for snapping at you like that—I didn't mean it, not really.”

“I'm not stupid, I'm just not a witch like you.”

“...witch?”

“You made that stinky stuff into good food,” Bucky explained as he turned to look at Steve properly. “You must be a witch.”

“I'm not a witch,” Steve replied with a soft chuckle of laughter. “It's  _ science _ , Bucky. When you mix flour and water together and let it get warm for a long time, it does something called  _ fermenting _ . It helps bread rise. There's no magic involved, I promise.”

“Oh.” Bucky's cheeks mottled to a faint pink, even as Steve reached for him tentatively.

Bucky didn't move, and allowed Steve to take his hand. In spite of Bucky's fervent insistence that they were somehow  _ meant to be  _ (or maybe because of it), Steve still felt that electric thrill course through him, as though he felt some sort of excitement borne only from holding the werewolf's hand. 

“I don't think you're stupid, Buck,” Steve offered, and he shivered a little when Bucky's hand tensed around his, almost like he was afraid to let go. “I was just...stressed, you know, from what you told me...all that  _ true mates  _ stuff. It's a lot to take in.”

“I don't want to scare you,” Bucky said as he dropped his gaze to his lap. “I want to protect you.”

“How's about we start small, huh?” Steve offered, and he smiled faintly when Bucky lifted his gaze incrementally, with a noticeable glint of hope in his eyes. “In the human world, people go on dates to get to know each other...like, a dinner together, or a walk, or they go dancin', or to the pictures if you're real fancy. Think instead of jumping in with both feet we can start there?”

Bucky didn't answer right away. His hand was still taught over Steve's, his expression tense and thoughtful. Steve wasn't completely sure, but he thought that maybe Bucky didn't really appreciate the notion of going slowly, or maybe the notion of doing things  _ the human way _ . Steve couldn't decide which. 

Steve didn't say anything either way. Instead he waited patiently, watching Bucky, his breath still in his lungs as he waited to hear the werewolf's response. 

“All right,” he said at last, “I'll—I'll  _ try _ .”

Steve felt his shoulders sag, and he beamed at Bucky as he squeezed the man's hand gently in his own.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

Bucky smiled, perhaps relieved that Steve wasn't rejecting him again. Together, they eased back against the sofa's cushions, hands still intertwined.

As Steve felt himself relax, Bucky released his hand and casually wrapped his arm around Steve's narrow shoulders. Steve felt himself blush, but he let the werewolf do it.

_ I could get used to this _ , Steve thought as he leant into the embrace, remarking mentally on how  _ warm  _ Bucky felt, and how, in that moment, Steve felt as though maybe, possibly, there might just be a  _ little  _ bit of truth to the whole  _ mates thing  _ after all _ . _

And, oddly, he was mostly okay with that.


	7. Upside-Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for May 31st. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven – Upside-Down

If Steve had been given time to consider it (or given any real choice at all) he may have balked at the notion of living in such a lonely place, and with only one other person for company. 

It wasn't that he was some sort of wild extrovert. In fact, Steve was more of the opposite and enjoyed his time on his own, but he liked the feeling of people around. It was comforting in a way, knowing someone was on the other side of the wall in an apartment complex, or down the street at the store. 

Here, there was only Bucky between Steve and the wilderness. 

Steve felt intimidated by that notion—he wasn't ashamed to admit it. He knew he'd be in real trouble if something happened to Bucky and he was left to fend for himself.

Steve honestly couldn't decide if his worries were legitimate. Bucky had been determined to take care of Steve, but sometimes this involved rigging up a dingy wooden sled at nightfall, and coming back in the early morning hours with carefully packed up eggs, sacks of grain, and hearty winter vegetables, thus leaving Steve to worry about him  _ all damn night _ . He'd have no way to know if he got into trouble, or worse,  _ hurt _ .

All of the grain sacks that Bucky brought back bore the name  _ Barton Farms _ , like the ones that Steve had seen in the root cellar. Steve was curious about it, and had promptly asked Bucky how he'd paid for everything, but when Bucky asked him what he meant by  _ paid  _ and what  _ money  _ was, Steve quickly got the message.

Instead, Steve began to keep a careful record of everything that Bucky gathered from these rare trips, and swore to pay the farm back in the spring—somehow. It was the least he could do after his wolf kept raiding their chicken coop and silo so thoroughly.

Other times, Bucky only left for a few hours to gather dead trees for firewood, or to get meat for them, which was becoming harder to find the deeper into winter they got. Steve supplemented the lack of meat by making more bread or loading the soups and stews he made with barley, even as Bucky complained loudly and endlessly about that. 

Steve ignored the werewolf's complaining—what else were they supposed to eat if Bucky was having trouble finding animals in the woods?

Steve had relayed this opinion to Bucky, and he was quite proud of himself when the werewolf had no answer, and just sulked at the kitchen table while Steve rendered fat from a cut of moose belly for the oil lamps, and glared at the uneaten barley in the bottom of his bowl.

~*~

When the next full moon came, Steve wisely chose to stay at home. He wasn't keen to sleep in the snow again, which Bucky seemed truly grateful for. 

“Good,” Bucky said when Steve promised to stay put, “'cause I don't wanna share you.”

Bucky placed a kiss on Steve's cheek and squeezed Steve's hands once before he departed, leaving the poor, dumbstruck human no time to react properly. 

Steve retreated into the house, and stared up at the rising full moon with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Bucky's possessiveness stirred something in Steve, something primal and hungry, and part of him  _ really  _ wanted to accept even a small taste of what Bucky was offering up so freely.

_ But what if it all goes to shit?  _ Steve wondered, the notion making him shiver, even as he piled more wood onto the fire and made himself another hot cup of coffee. Now, there was no worry that he'd run out of the stuff, given that Bucky had pilfered some from...wherever. Steve hadn't asked too many questions, but Bucky had stolen enough coffee beans to easily last him for the next six months. 

Steve hated that he didn't have an answer for himself when he began to worry about the  _ what ifs  _ of a possible relationship with the werewolf. Bucky kept going on and on about them being  _ meant to be _ , but the truth of it was that the world was  _ not  _ kind to people like them. Some yahoo with a baseball bat would be more than enough to tear them apart.

No, it was pretty clear that Bucky's head was filled with fantasies about them living happily ever after, while Steve was more deeply rooted, unfortunately, in reality. 

Steve heaved a sigh as he turned to stare out in the encroaching dark. He heard a loud wolf's howl, and he couldn't help but shiver with longing as one of his hands reached up to touch his cheek. 

It still felt warm from where Bucky had kissed him.

Even with all the coffee running through his system, Steve somehow managed to fall asleep in front of the fire bundled up under a thick woollen blanket. He woke again early the next morning, and dragged himself out of the nest of blankets in order to build the fire back up and start on breakfast. 

After dithering for a while on whether or not to use the last of the meat, Steve decided to risk it, taking the block of frozen, cubed elk meat from the meat pole outside, and fried it up with a glob of fat and salt and pepper, along with another pan full of scrambled eggs. 

It took a little longer than Steve would have liked for the meat to defrost and cook up nicely, but by the time everything was ready, Bucky was shuffling back into the house, looking exhausted, bearing a few scratches on his arms, but otherwise seemed to be content.

Although, that could also have been from the deer carcass he had draped over his shoulder, Bucky carrying the thing like it weighed nothing at all.

“I brought breakfast,” Bucky announced, sounding almost bemused, even as Steve laid out the plates of fried elk and eggs onto the little table. 

“Yeah, me too,” Steve replied with a little grin. “That's great, Buck, since I used up the last of our meat here.”

Bucky appeared conflicted in that moment, like there was something he wanted to say, but couldn't find the right words to say it.

“Let me just put this out of reach of the scavengers,” Bucky said as he offered Steve a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, then turned and headed back outside. 

Steve watched Bucky slouch outside, appearing even more exhausted than usual with the weight of the slender buck over his shoulders. The meat would be lean at this time of year, but Steve hoped he could get a few good stews out of the animal, making it last for as long as possible. 

Once again, Steve got that  _ housewife  _ sensation from his process of thoughts. When had he become  _ this _ ? 

And yet, Steve found that he didn't mind it so much this time. Bucky did his part, gathering their food and firewood, and Steve made it into something edible. After all, everyone had to eat, it didn't make him in any way more  _ womanish _ for doing so.

That knowledge helped him feel a little better about everything. He was comfortable in his sexuality, yes, but his small stature had led him to being the product of ridicule at home as well as at school or work for a very long time. It didn't help that his stupid mouth got him into more trouble than a rabbit at the dog races. Because of all that, it had taken him more time than he would have liked to not feel  _ weird _ about the notion of cooking and cleaning for Bucky.

_ Maybe in the spring he can teach me how to hunt, or trap _ , Steve mused idly, stubbornly ignoring the little voice at the back of his mind that wanted to remind him that he was supposed to leave come spring. After Bucky's heartfelt confession, that seemed less and less likely to happen. 

Steve banished his dark thoughts, and smiled to himself as he watched out the window at the sight of Bucky hopping down from the meat pole, still decidedly sluggish from his night as a wolf. Steve was more than a little pleased at the notion that he wouldn't have to pack up and leave the second the snow started to melt, but by the same token he hoped he wouldn't have to pay for that with more than he was willing to give. 

Especially since in the near-month that had transpired since Bucky's heartfelt confession, Steve hadn't managed to bring  _ that subject  _ up at all.

He wanted to say that he hadn't had time to think it over, but in truth Steve knew that he was still more than a little freaked out by the whole  _ meant to be _ aspect of it. What if they were meant to be, but discovered that they hated each other?

_ But he can fart in my general direction, make the whole damn house smell like a rotting corpse, and I still don't hate him for it,  _ Steve mused as Bucky finally made it back inside. He sat down heavily across from Steve at the kitchen table, and dug into the lukewarm meal with gusto. 

“Thank you for the food, Steve,” Bucky said, enunciating each syllable carefully and effectively drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “It is very good.”

“It sounds like you think I overcooked the meat again,” Steve remarked teasingly, and he was gifted with a shy little blush.

None too surprisingly, Bucky was too exhausted to do much more than eat the meal that Steve had offered, then slouched off to sleep in the bed, although only after Steve insisted he use it, rather than sleep on the sofa.

Steve used the quiet time to clean up, then in the early evening Bucky woke back up and went out to retrieve the buck, then laid claim over the whole kitchen floor as he skinned and butchered the animal. 

_ Guess we're having venison tonight, _ Steve mused as he watched Bucky work, the werewolf's shirt discarded as he continued to cut and slice, his body shiny with sweat and blood, but even so, Steve found it hard to look away.

_ God, he's so beautiful. _

Steve shivered a little, and he licked his lips unconsciously, but even so the action was not missed by Bucky, who chuckled warmly.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that,” Bucky explained as he glanced up and offered Steve a heart-stopping smile. “Makes me want to do all sorts of filthy things to you, and I got work to do.”

When Steve blushed furiously, and looked determinedly away from the werewolf. Bucky chuckled again, and returned to his work. 

Once Bucky had finished butchering the animal, the skin laid out on a stretching board to dry, and the organ meat had been packed up in cloth bags, Bucky dutifully began to scrub down the bloodstained floor while Steve broke out the bread and butter in order to make some quick venison steak sandwiches for lunch. In truth, he thought it would have been much better with some spicy mustard, but the root cellar had none to spare.

_ Oh well,  _ Steve thought as he began to fry up the meat.  _ It's probably better to not ask Bucky to pick some up, I doubt he knows what good mustard is. _

Predictably, Bucky made a face at the overcooked meat, but seemed to be doing his best to not complain as he wolfed down the small meal, then headed outside to hang the unused meat up. 

Now that Steve knew Bucky's big secret, the werewolf didn't bother to hide it, heading out in just his slacks and boots and giving Steve a delicious view of his bare muscular back as he climbed the ladder up to the plank where they stored their meat. Bucky turned, and smirked at Steve through the window, telling Steve that the werewolf had known he was being watched, but this time Steve refused to look away, despite his embarrassment. Bucky was all-around beautiful to look at, and Steve was struggling with a good reason as to why he should deprive himself of that amazing sight.

_ Oh, I'm in so much trouble... _ Steve thought as he finally managed to force his gaze away in order to meander down to the cellar with an empty bowl in hand in order to select some vegetables to go with their dinner.  _ The more time that passes, the more I just want to climb that man like a tree and never come down. _

Steve could feel his hands shaking a little as he fought to tamp down on his arousal while he dug into the vegetable stores for onions, garlic, potatoes, and carrots to go with the deer. Once the bowl was full, he turned around and promptly dropped his vegetables all over the floor.

He yelped, startled, but that didn't help much as Bucky continued to lean against the cellar door and stare Steve down with a hungry look in his eyes.

“You smell good,” Bucky said, his voice low, and his eyes focused intensely on Steve. He straightened up and sauntered down the short staircase, and Steve couldn't help but notice how distinctly  _ predatory _ his gait was, like Steve was something to be hunted. 

“Um...thanks?” Steve squeaked as Bucky stopped before him, and crouched down in order to scoop up everything that Steve had dropped. 

Steve watched him, his mouth very dry, in particular when Bucky settled on his knees, looked up at Steve, then licked his lips.

Bucky deposited the wayward vegetables back in the bowl, but instead of handing it straight to Steve, he set it aside while he remained on his knees.

Bucky stared up at Steve, his eyes seeming to glow in the semi-darkness. There was a question there, one Steve knew all too well. 

Without waiting for Bucky to ask, he nodded.

Steve shuddered as Bucky's hands wrapped around the backs of Steve's knees, and slowly inched their way upwards to cradle his ass. 

Steve let out a tiny moan, shivering as Bucky squeezed his ass gently, massaging the flesh, and making Steve's cock begin to positively  _ ache  _ against the itchy fabric of his wool slacks. 

“B-Bucky...please...” Steve groaned, trembling once again as Bucky leaned forward and mouthed Steve's cock through the fabric. 

Bucky paused only as long as it took to tug Steve's pants down to his knees. His pale legs looked like they might glow in the dim light of the root cellar, but that didn't seem to bother Bucky. He gazed at Steve like he was some sort of gilded Roman God, and, even better, he did not regard Steve's cock size with any sort of negative scrutiny. While Steve did not view himself as  _ small _ , he didn't regard himself as all that big either. Fellow queers being the size queens they were, it always caused Steve to approach sex with a modicum of apprehension.

Not this time, though.

Bucky swallowed Steve's cock in one, letting out a soft moan of pleasure, as though there was no place he'd rather be than on his knees in front of Steve. His hands squeezed and massaged Steve's ass, making it difficult for him to remain standing, but Bucky remedied this by yanking Steve's pants off the rest of the way before he lifted his human up and placed Steve's legs on his shoulders, effectively forcing Steve's cock the rest of the way down Bucky's throat in the process.

Steve let out a loud shout, his head slamming back against the cellar wall, making it twinge with pain even through the mind-numbing pleasure of having his cock in Bucky's hot mouth. The werewolf's nose was buried deep into Steve's thatch of pubic hair, working his mouth like a pro over Steve's cock, while his fingers teased at his hole, not entering, but adding just enough pressure to his rim to make the whole experience even  _ better. _

_ So much for going slow... _ Steve thought hazily as Bucky grunted, pressing harder against Steve's groin, almost like he was desperate to taste more of his human as he worked his mouth over him, growling with pleasure each time Steve's hips twitched forward, almost like the werewolf had no gag reflex at all.

Steve reached down as another moan slipped past his lips and his fingers knotted in Bucky's hair, urging him on. The werewolf groaned in response, his tongue curling around the base of Steve's cock while one of his hands dropped from Steve's ass in order to dive into his own pants, and he began to fist his cock roughly.

Steve slammed his head back again, the pain intermingling with the pleasure deliciously as he let out a shout, and felt Bucky enthusiastically swallow down his release, sucking on him until Steve began to shudder with over-sensitivity, and with a few more pulls, Bucky let out a grunt of his own as he came in his pants, and slumped down against the floor, dragging Steve with him. 

Steve shifted until he was lying on top of Bucky instead of just straddling his face. His arms were pressed against the werewolf's chest and his head perched against Bucky's shoulder, while Bucky, in turn, wrapped a meaty arm around Steve's trim waist. 

“That was...” Steve began in between deep gasps of breath, “I just came down here for vegetables for our supper.” 

“Serves you right for trying to give me rabbit food,” Bucky quipped as he angled his head in order to kiss Steve's temple, but Steve lifted his head, ensuring that they kissed properly.

Somewhere in the back of Steve's mind, it occurred to him that they definitely did the whole courtship/lead-in to intimacy all upside down and backwards, but mostly, Steve didn't care. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so at peace with himself and his situation, and he just wanted to lie there and kiss Bucky forever.

Because even with dog breath, it was the best kiss that Steve ever had.


	8. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for June 14th. Enjoy!
> 
> **Possible Content Warning: Referenced Homophobia**

Chapter Eight – Breathe

It started from the time Steve got up that morning. It was something that he knew was coming, but it still managed to shock him regardless.

To anyone other than Steve, it may have felt like nothing—a simple shortness of breath was nothing to write home about after all. But for Steve, shortness of breath was a dangerous thing.

In fact, it could be deadly.

Steve had felt it before, and it always stirred a fear deep in his belly, in particular when he knew that this time he had no medicine to counteract it. The inhalers on the market were too expensive for him—even when he  _ wasn't _ in the middle of nowhere—and the asthma cigarettes he usually kept with him had been used up long before he'd gotten dumped by his family.

On top of that, Steve liked to think that he knew Bucky a little better by now, in particular how he might react to Steve even having the sniffles. Therefore, the first thing Steve thought on that fateful morning was that he must  _ not  _ panic. 

Of course, even if Bucky hadn't been around, that was the first rule to follow when Steve's asthma acted up anyway—if you panicked, the shortness of breath got twice as bad, and then you'd be in real trouble. 

As a result, Steve breathed slowly. Deep breath, hold, breathe out. Stay relaxed. 

Steve got out of their bed reluctantly, but even the small movement from lying down to standing up left him gasping, and he knew in his gut that today would  _ not  _ be a good day. 

Their bed wasn't the same bed Steve had been staying in prior to their romp in the root cellar, but something Bucky had constructed for them on the floor of the living room, like a giant mattress composed mostly of thick blankets and pillows, so that they could curl up by the fire together, warm and comfortable. 

This morning, the softness was not doing Steve any favours, as a firm bed usually helped him better when his lungs decided to act up. He needed to be propped up on a few pillows, and if he was too flat, it made it harder to breathe.

Amazingly though, the small act of crawling out of bed didn't wake his werewolf, and Steve chanced a glance out the window, immediately finding the source of why he was struggling to breathe so much that day. 

It was snowing again, but the wet sort of late-February snow that indicated that it was going to be a damp day, even if Steve hadn't been able to feel it in his chest. Dry air always helped him more, and the damp air was definitely going to make things harder on him. 

Still wheezing a little, Steve hastened to pile a few more logs onto the glowing coals, knowing that the fire would help dry out the air in the cabin. He didn't wait to see if they caught, and instead walked to the bedroom to find some clean clothes to wear.

~*~

While Steve cooked up a pot of oatmeal, he began to realize that he was in  _ real _ trouble. It had been over an hour, and despite the drying air from both the fire and the stove, he still couldn't breathe properly. He knew that he wasn't  _ sick _ -sick, but an attack out here was definitely risky, and he needed to figure out how to tell Bucky without making him freak out. 

_ Bucky, I can't breathe.  _

Even in his head, Steve knew that that simple sentence would be enough to scare anyone no matter who they were. 

It was always hard to articulate asthma to people who didn't have it; difficulty breathing was a normal part of Steve's daily life, and not some sort of rare risk one might encounter once or twice a decade. He remembered people in school thinking his condition was a joke, or somehow funny, like they had no  _ clue  _ how dangerous it could actually be.

Steve turned his head and coughed into his elbow, then gasped for breath again. He was already beginning to get a headache from the lack of oxygen, which was concerning, but not dangerous—yet.

Bucky got up at the smell of food, but he made a face when he saw the pot of oatmeal and the open jam jar on the table. Steve had started on his coffee before Bucky had even gotten up, knowing that the caffeine sometimes helped when his asthma was giving him trouble. 

“I hate—Steve?” 

“Nice to know what you think of me,” Steve replied dryly as Bucky approached the table, and coughed again. Bucky frowned, as though he didn't appreciate the joke.

“You don't sound right, and you smell...not scared, but  _ almost scared _ ,” Bucky explained as he sat down across from him and poked at the oatmeal, but didn't really eat it.

“I need you to go into town for me, Buck,” Steve explained, careful to keep his voice even as he spoke. “I need some medicine, and it's sort of special. Can you do that for me?”

“Are you sick?” Bucky asked, his voice bearing the same careful evenness to it, like he, too, was trying not to panic. 

“You could say that,” Steve admitted with a weak smile. “I have a condition, have had it since I was little. It means my lungs don't work properly sometimes, and I need special medicine for it, but I'm all out. You need to go to the drug store for me, and show the pharmacist the letter I'm going to give you. Just tell him you're my brother, it'll make them trust you easier.”

“I can't tell them you're my mate?” Bucky asked, sounding a little hurt, and Steve shook his head. “Why?”

“Humans have funny opinions about love,” Steve replied with a weak, sad smile. “Lots of 'em think two men in love is somehow  _ wrong _ , or against God. Some people act like we got a disease because of it. If you tell them you're my brother, they'll trust you more. I don't want to lie about us, Buck, but this is a special circumstance, so I  _ really  _ need you to do it just this once for me.”

“And you really need this medicine,” Bucky filled in, and Steve nodded at once.

“I really, really do.”

“All right... _ brother. _ ”

Steve and chuckled, and Bucky smiled, seeming more relaxed than before, or at least he appeared less strained. That was a good sign; Steve knew the less stress they were under that day, the better.

~*~

After breakfast, Bucky wouldn't allow Steve to strain himself by cleaning up, and promised to do it for him when he got back. Steve drafted a letter, certifying that Bucky was Steve's  _ brother _ , and what medicine was needed. Considering the asthma cigarettes were over-the-counter, he didn't need to give the pharmacist further proof than that. 

Steve didn't exactly have much money, but he gave Bucky all he had (paired with a brief overview of what money was and why Bucky needed it) and prayed that it would be enough. Then, standing at the door with the letter tucked into an envelope and fitted into Bucky's pants pocket, Bucky turned to kiss Steve deeply, promising that he'd be back soon. Steve didn't even have a chance to respond before he watched as Bucky screwed up his face like he'd suddenly gotten a terrible headache. Steve watched, mouth open, as the clothes Bucky was wearing, boots, jacket, and all, seemed to meld into Bucky's skin before it shifted to fur, making it look like his normal werewolf transformation.

Steve wanted to ask about a million questions, but there wasn't time. Bucky barked at him, seemingly in reassurance, then raced from the front stoop and into the woods without looking back. 

With his promise to Bucky that he wouldn't clean house still in mind, Steve turned around and looked for something to do that wouldn't strain his stupid lungs too much. There was a little bookcase in the far corner of the cabin's living room that he hadn't paid much attention to before, and when Steve got closer to it, he found it to be filled mostly with how-to manuals for carpentry, hunting, and gardening, along with what looked like a big photo album, but upon closer inspection Steve found that it was actually filled with little seed packets. There was also a row of novels—mostly adventure and western novels, but there were also two Jack London books that had to make Steve laugh out loud.

With another cup of coffee in hand, Steve lay down on the sofa with his back propped against the arm, and he buried his nose in the old, battered copy of  _ Call of the Wild _ , while he prayed that his werewolf would get back soon. 

~*~

_ Bang, bang, bang. _

Steve was not impressed with the high pitched squeak that escaped him, nor the fact that he spilled cold coffee all over his pants. The front door of the cabin rattled in its frame, even as the person on the other side knocked again, so hard that it sounded almost like it might suddenly come off its hinges at any moment.

The alarm at someone knocking on the door when he was alone in the middle of the woods wasn't exactly helping Steve's asthma. He rolled off the couch and hurried to the bedroom to change, hoping that the intruder wouldn't peek in the windows and decide that it was a place worth looting.

In hindsight, Steve probably should have looked for a weapon first, then changed his pants, but he fully blamed the misstep on the lack of oxygen going to his brain. 

When he got back from the bedroom with a fresh pair of slacks, the person was still hammering on the door. Steve could hear murmuring along with it, telling him that there was more than one person outside, and Steve could feel his asthma attack getting even worse from the spike of fear that had begun to overtake him. 

“ _ Steve, you in there? _ ” a voice called, making Steve jump, in particular when it definitely wasn't Bucky's voice. “ _ C'mon, Steve, open up. We're friends. _ ”

The tone of voice sounded more frustrated that genial, even as Steve crossed the space in order to grab a knife from the kitchen, then inched slowly and cautiously towards the door. 

“Who's friends?” Steve demanded harshly through the door, even as he tried to remain calm, if for no other reason than to keep his asthma from worsening. “I don't know you.”

“ _ We got a friend in common, buddy, _ ” another voice piped up. “ _ Bucky sent us to make sure you don't die while he gets that stuff for you. _ ”

Steve wanted to believe them, but he wasn't stupid either. For all he knew, these were some train-hopping vagrants who got the information out of Bucky, and then went looking for him. Instead of responding, Steve inched towards the door, pointedly ignoring their annoyed grumbling at the fact that he wouldn't let them in yet, and peered through one of the front-facing windows, only to breathe out a long sigh of relief. He recognized the group of men at the window, and hurried to open the door.

“About damn time,” the tallest pronounced as he burst in, shaking his wet hair free of snow. “Your mate came racing into my sentry point in a fuckin' panic because you couldn't breathe. If I was anyone else I would've probably killed him.”

“We're not about to let that dumbass's mate die on our watch,” the black man filled in, grinning from ear to ear while Steve just stared at them all blankly, at a loss for what to say. 

“It is only Bucky we do this thing for, you know,” the third said in a thick French accent. “No matter if he is pack or not.”

“You better sit down, lad,” the fourth said, this time in a British accent. “You look ready to fall over.”

“Yeah, man,” the Asian man added. “If you faint and Ol' Bucko hears about it he'll never let us babysit you again. Even  _ if  _ you threatened us with that pigsticker 'a yours.”

The group laughed warmly, even as Steve blushed, and they immediately brushed off his feeble attempts at apologizing for answering the door with a kitchen knife in hand.

Without really knowing what was happening, Steve was shunted back to the couch by Bucky's friends. One of them produced a dampened rag and cleaned up Steve's coffee spill, while the others took to the task of tidying up the leftover breakfast dishes and preparing some lunch for Steve to eat.

“Here,” the British guy said, sitting down on the couch next to Steve, who still felt a little disoriented at all the strangers in his space, especially when he was sitting around doing nothing. It took Steve a moment to notice that the guy was holding out something to him, and when he looked down, he realized that it was a hand-rolled cigarette.

“What is it?” Steve asked curiously as he accepted the cigarette from the man, and he smiled at Steve kindly. “Tobacco?”

“Coltsfoot leaves,” the man explained patiently. “The flowers look similar to dandelions, but the leaves help with lung problems. We gather it in the summer and dry it for if someone in our pack gets sick.”

“Oh, thanks,” Steve replied, offering the man a smile, while he looked around for his matches, and found the man had taken care of that as well, and held out a box to Steve silently. He accepted it, struck a match, and lit the end of the cigarette. 

The smoke was bitter, and made Steve cough, but after a few puffs he got more used to it, though the others didn't seem to like the smell too much. They didn't complain however, even as they spread out to work on the chores throughout the little cabin, preparing food, chopping firewood, or just keeping Steve company while he tried to get through the foul-tasting smoke. 

“Sorry,” Steve rasped, though amazingly he realized that the cigarette was helping him breathe a little better. “But I didn't catch your name.”

“Call me Jim,” the man said with a kind smile. “That's Tim, but everyone calls him Dum-Dum,” he added as he pointed to the big man who had initially greeted him, presently outside chopping firewood, “and that's Jacques,” he added, pointing to the Frenchman who was scrubbing furiously at the morning's oatmeal pot, “Gabe,” he motioned to the black man who was sifting through Steve's meagre selection of herbs and spices, “and Jim Morita, but everyone just calls him Morita, so that there's no confusion,” Jim finished as he motioned towards the Asian man who was also outside and carefully climbing the ladder that led to their meat supply. “We're all quite close with Bucky, and of course we'd take up the cause of keeping you safe while he goes for your human medicine.”

“You'll have to show me where to get this stuff in the spring,” Steve offered as he finished the cigarette, and stubbed out the remnants with his fingertips. He did feel a little better, but nowhere near perfect. However, he was reluctant to smoke too much of the stuff Jim had offered him, which could probably make him sick too.

_ Everything in moderation, sweetheart,  _ Steve heard his Ma say in his head.  _ Even broccoli will make you sick if you let it. _

“It's not so difficult to grow if you expect this to be a recurring issue,” Jim said as he eased back against the couch, though he seemed to be making a point of not sitting  _ too  _ close to Steve, almost like he was afraid that he had some kind of disease. 

“I've had it since I was a kid, but it's not contagious,” Steve offered, his voice a touch more defensive than he'd meant it, and Jim chuckled warmly as though he understood why Steve sounded so annoyed.

“Oh, don't mind me,” Jim said warmly. “Your mate is a  _ trifle  _ territorial. If we get too close to you, or touch you, he might think we're being inappropriate. Best to keep our distance and avoid a werewolf pissing match, don't you think?”

“Yeah, Bucky'd probably be real good at that,” Steve agreed immediately, smirking to himself as he recalled how protective Bucky had been during that first ill-fated full moon, just as Jim began to laugh loudly. 

It felt far less lonely with the five werewolves hanging around the house, though admittedly it felt a little odd for Steve to be waited on hand and foot. Gabe made some kind of spicy stew with some deer meat and potatoes, finding a use for the little bottle of cayenne pepper that Steve had never known what to do with. It was much more spicy than what Steve's delicate Irish taste buds were used to, but Gabe kept insisting that the spice would help his lungs, and so Steve ate it with minimal complaining—and a big glass of water.

“So,” Steve hedged in the late afternoon while he smoked another one of Jim's foul-tasting cigarettes. He was still struggling a bit, but his asthma attacks had a nasty habit of getting worse, or just going away on their own, and it was always hard to tell which was more likely to occur. Either way, he knew that he'd still need the medicine from Bucky, so the trip wouldn't be a waste, especially when spring blew in with its wet weather and clouds of pollen. “You're all from Bucky's pack...or...old pack?”

“Yeah, we grew up together,” Morita said with a wry smile, like something was funny. The group was taking a break from their chores, and but refused Steve's offer of coffee in lieu of passing around a metal flask of corn whisky, which Steve politely declined. His lungs wouldn't be much useful if his oesophagus was melted. “Bucko was always getting in scuffles with Dum-Dum. Had big dreams of taking over as Alpha one day.”

“That's your leader?” Steve guessed, recalling what he knew of wolf pack behaviour from school, which admittedly wasn't much. Thankfully he'd guessed right when the others nodded.

“Alpha Phillips,” Gabe filled in as he took another swig of the whisky. “He's this cranky old wolf, but strong as an ox. You probably wouldn't know it to look at him, though. Fair, but definitely favours physical strength over pretty much everything else. For our pack the only way you get to be alpha is if you beat the current one in a fight, but it's tough, 'cause if you lose, you're out. A couple scrappy teens tried it a few times, and Alpha didn't hesitate to kick them out. They got caught by poachers pretty quick.”

“Poachers?” Steve asked curiously, and Dum-Dum's gaze darkened. It was a little unsettling to see such a usually cheery man look so angry.

“Werewolf poachers,” Dum-Dum added. “Apparently our skins fetch a pretty penny in some parts, and it's gotten worse these last ten years, no idea why. It's really dangerous to be a lone wolf, and when Bucky challenged Alpha and lost, we all thought he was done for. Damn miracle that he didn't get himself killed out on his own.”

Steve had a few ideas about all that, but he wasn't sure how much to share. Jim forced the conversation towards cheerier topics, and discussed the merits of using some of Steve and Bucky's grain stores to start up a batch of beer for them, even as Steve's thoughts were still caught on what Dum-Dum had said.

_ The numbers are probably higher 'cause of the Depression _ , Steve thought as he puffed on the cigarette, though the taste was still pretty awful.  _ And he didn't die because he...well...ate the poor man who lived here. I know that wasn't Bucky's fault, though. He was starving. He told me before that he couldn't control himself. And, obviously it was just that one time. I remember how guilty he looked when I'd asked him about it, so there's no way he'd do that again, plus he's eating well now. But I probably shouldn't mention it to these people, especially when I have no clue about how they view cannibalism...or, is it cannibalism? _

“Steeeve, hey, Steve, you in there, buddy?”

Steve blinked, and when he returned his focus to the present, he saw Dum-Dum waving his hand in front of his face and alternately snapping his fingers. 

“Sorry,” Steve replied with a small smile. “Was just thinking.”

“Don't worry, your beau will be back soon,” Morita added, giving Steve a look like he assumed that the human had been daydreaming about his werewolf boyfriend. “He'd never leave you hanging like that.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve agreed with a weak laugh, just as Jim jolted to his feet and announced that he was going to find out if the root cellar had any hops.

~*~

It was a long, painful day.

Steve always got a sore chest in the comedown from an asthma attack, and he needed to rest for a day or two before he felt completely normal again. The coltsfoot had definitely helped enough that he wasn't gasping any longer, but it was a slow-acting equivalent to his usual pharmaceuticals. He was also fairly certain he'd never get the damn taste out of his mouth after the last few hours of puffing on the damn stuff. 

The group of men refused to leave Steve unsupervised, even when a pretty young woman tracked them to the cabin and berated them for abandoning their posts. Steve had no clue who she was, but she was definitely a looker, and her British accent was real classy. When she didn't manage to get them to come back, the group steadfastly staying with Steve while they waited for Bucky, she warned that she couldn't put Alpha off forever before she changed shape into that of a russet wolf, and raced back into the woods.

Steve tried to apologize after the woman left, but he was brushed off, even as Gabe pressed more spicy stew on him.

“Forget it, man,” Gabe said pleasantly. “Peggy is a friend, she's been covering for us all day, but Alpha's starting to ask questions. We really don't care; keepin' you safe is more important than worrying about what Alpha will do when we get back.”

“Won't he kick you guys out for helping me?”

“Nah,” Gabe replied as he laughed warmly. “He'll raise merry hell, but he won't exile us. Technically coming and going from the territory isn't against the rules if you're off duty. Bringing a human or outsider into our territory definitely would be, though. This is a special circumstance, so I doubt Alpha will be  _ that  _ mad that we took off from our duties with no warning.”

“So this is a bit of a loophole in your boss's rules,” Steve filled in, which made Gabe laugh heartily in agreement. 

“Definitely. Now, eat up. Meemaw's secret recipe is best eaten piping hot.”

“Meemaw?” Steve asked with a chuckle as he dipped his spoon into the stew, fishing out a hunk of meat, and Gabe grinned.

“My grandma. She always said,  _ if yer eyes ain't waterin', it ain't Meemaw's.  _ She came up from Louisiana back in '18. Loves her cajun spice, that woman.”

Steve smiled as he nodded, and began to eat. True to Gabe's dire warning, it was enough to melt paint off a car, and when Steve paused to blow his nose in a handkerchief Gabe began to laugh, clearly pleased that his food had set fire to Steve's insides.

~*~

“Well, I say it's time for a spot of poker,” Jim said cheerily when Dum-Dum and Morita headed back inside with the last armload of chopped firewood. There was a mountain of it in the living room now, more than enough to sustain them into the next day if needed. Their hair was dusted with wet snow, and when Steve glanced outside, he saw that it was coming down even harder. His insides twisted with unease. Would Bucky be all right in this weather?

“Don't worry about Bucky, man,” Morita said with a grin, clearly having spotted the look on Steve's face. “He's a bit nuts about those he cares about, but he's not stupid. He won't race off into a storm unless he's a hundred percent sure he knows where he's going. Plus, he grew up in these woods; he'd probably be able to make it back here blindfolded.”

Steve nodded, and forced out a laugh as Dum-Dum and Morita finished piling up the wood before they finally shed their coats and boots, and sprawled around the coffee table where Jim was doling out the cards. 

“I guess it's hard to imagine, since I couldn't find my way out of a wet paper bag,” Steve joked, and grinned when the remark was met with a round of laughter. 

They played with matches, since none of them had anything of real value to bet with, and Steve wasn't really playing his best, his poor hands made worse by his inability to maintain his poker face when he was so worried about Bucky. Bucky's friends didn't seem to mind, and gently teased him about it, though they seemed entirely unconcerned about how long it was taking Bucky to get back. Steve got the impression that they'd wait for him for a hundred years if needed. 

Steve cast a glance to the window as he laid down another shitty hand. It was still snowing hard.

He hoped that Bucky would get back soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know I am repeating myself, but please note that Steve's experiences with asthma are entirely based on my own, especially in terms of what sort of weather affects me more (eg humid air vs dry air). I have suffered from moderate to severe asthma for my entire life, and like to think that I know what I'm talking about.
> 
> Also, asthma cigarettes were a real thing in the 30s, which were mostly composed of things like belladonna, henbane, stramonium, and lobelia. 


	9. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for June 28th. Enjoy!

Chapter Nine – Welcome Home

Steve's asthma attack finally passed into nothingness around midnight. While his five werewolf guardians were perfectly content to pile onto the mattress in the living room, build up the fire, and sleep through the night cuddled together, Steve felt a little odd about cuddling with anyone except Bucky, even if he  _ could _ sleep. 

Instead, Steve sat by the window and stared into the darkness of the forest. The fire was enough to warm him, even at a distance, and the snow had thankfully petered out, clearing the sky and lighting the tops of the trees in thin, bright moonlight. 

A shadow crossed the property, but Steve recognized it as a deer, and he almost laughed. He thought the creature was pretty brave to get close to  _ this _ cabin. Wouldn't the meat and wolf smells scare it off?

As Steve began to believe this deer was either very brave or very stupid, one of the guys let out a loud snort from behind him, which seemed to spook the animal, and it darted off. 

Steve shook his head, smiling as he did so, and settled back into his staring, hoping fervently that Bucky would come home soon.

~*~

Steve woke with a crick in his neck, but that didn't seem to matter so much when someone had pulled him into their lap, and was petting his hair. 

Steve jolted, ready to push the person away, when a voice hushed him and said, “relax, it's just me.”

“ _ Bucky! _ ” Steve hissed, lurching forward to envelop Bucky in a tight hug, which made the werewolf chuckle warmly as he returned the embrace enthusiastically. It was only then that Steve realized he was no longer in the chair by the window, but curled up in the narrow little bed in the bedroom, away from the other sleeping werewolves.

“Missed me?” Bucky teased when Steve relaxed his hold on him, and moved in to kiss Steve gently. “I tried to get back as soon as I could, but I didn't think it was safe to rush when the weather was so bad.”

“No, I'm glad you didn't,” Steve replied as he reached out to touch Bucky's cheek. “I was really worried you'd do something stupid and rush through the storm.”

“You mean like wandering around the woods without the right clothes?” Bucky shot back teasingly, “or following me on the full moon when I told you not to?”

“First time I didn't have much choice,” Steve pointed out with a grin as he shifted up and offered Bucky another kiss, and he shivered when Bucky's arms wrapped around him almost possessively. “Second time it was 'cause you didn't tell me a damn thing. Did you get my medicine, by the way?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied as he reached for the bedside table where a slightly rumpled paper bag sat. “I didn't need your funny papers, the human just gave me them.”

“How did you manage that one?” Steve asked curiously as he accepted the bag and looked inside, finding almost a dozen packs of asthma cigarettes. It must have cost a  _ fortune; _ why would Bucky get them for free?

“I showed the man your letter, and I was kind of...well...kind of worried?” Bucky pinched his brow, as though something in his explanation he found confusing. “And he seemed to feel bad, so he gave them to me, so I hunted a deer and left it outside for him in thanks.”

From Bucky's somewhat halting explanation and the flashes of embarrassment Steve could see on his face as he told the story, Steve could easily assume that by  _ kind of worried  _ Bucky actually meant that he was a frantic emotional wreck. Possibly, the pharmacist gave Bucky all the cigarette packs just in an effort to get him out of the store. 

On top of that, leaving a dead animal outside would probably _ not _ garner the gratitude Bucky was obviously hoping for. Steve found it more than a little difficult to swallow his laughter and keep a straight face at the mental image of a pharmacist heading up the street to open his drug store, only to find a  _ deer carcass  _ on the welcome mat.

“I'm glad you got them, and I'm glad you're back,” Steve said instead as he shifted a little to set the bag back on the night stand. “Your friend Jim's homemade version helped me get over my attack this time, but these will be a  _ big  _ help in the future.”

“Attack?” Bucky asked immediately, sounding puzzled. “Who attacked you?”

“Oh, um, the sickness-thing I have is called asthma, and when it acts up, we call it an  _ asthma attack _ ,” Steve explained, even as Bucky continued to look a little confused by the term. “I guess medical people use that word a lot when it's something really sudden, like asthma attack, heart attack...something else attack...I don't know.”

“Well, then when your ass-ma attacks you, I'm glad that you will have your medicine,” Bucky murmured, and Steve smiled up at him warmly.

“Thank you for getting it for me—really,” Steve said, and Bucky shook his head a little as he looked down at Steve adoringly. 

“I would do anything for you, Steve.”

Steve arched up, and once he'd balanced himself in Bucky's lap he draped his arms over the werewolf's shoulders, and kissed him deeply.

Bucky let out a soft groan, his arms tightening around Steve's waist in order to draw him closer, and Steve just barely managed to swallow a laugh at the realization that Bucky was  _ already  _ getting hard. He could feel it, but Steve could scarcely believe it—how could Bucky get so aroused from just a  _ kiss? _

Steve decided not to ask, mostly because he really didn't want to stop when Bucky's lips felt  _ so good _ against his. 

“Show me how much you missed me, Bucky,” Steve whispered in between kisses, “let me welcome you home properly.” 

Immediately, Bucky groaned with longing.

Bucky's hands slid up Steve's chest and under his suspenders, slipping them off his narrow shoulders easily before he directed his attention to the front of Steve's shirt, and began to deftly open the buttons. 

“Sweet Moon, you're so beautiful, Steve...” Bucky whispered in between kisses, letting out a needy whine when Steve shifted on his lap, and willingly let Steve reach out to return the favour, sliding the pullover sweater up and over his head, mussing Bucky's hair, and making him grin in a wicked sort of way, making it pretty clear what sort of plans he had for Steve.

With something not unlike a wolfish snarl, Bucky flipped them over and pinned Steve to the bed, making him yelp in surprise. Immediately Bucky froze, his brow knitting together with concern, but Steve shook his head as he murmured, “I'm okay, keep going.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Bucky whispered as he moved in to kiss him again. “I've never been with a human, so tell me if I need to slow down, okay?”

“I will, I promise,” Steve replied with a small smile. “Now get a move on, would ya?”

Bucky responded with a laugh, and nodded as he kissed Steve one last time before he slid down the bed and began to tug on the waistband of Steve's slacks and underwear at once, making it clear that he had no time for more buttons or zippers.

Steve lifted his ass off the bed to help Bucky along, and the werewolf let out a tiny moan of longing as Steve's cock popped up when it was freed from its confines. Bucky visibly licked his lips as he tossed the garments aside before he began to wrestle with the ties on his own pants. 

Steve licked his lips as he watched Bucky work. Last time Steve hadn't gotten to see much of Bucky, and it had all been over so quick that it left Steve's head spinning a little. This time, he got to watch as the pants fell away, revealing Bucky in all his glory.

Surprisingly, Bucky was circumcised. Steve hadn't expected that from a man who had grown up in the woods, and logged his curiosity away to ask about it later— _ much  _ later _ . _ Steve didn't find that unpleasant however, he was the same, given that he'd been raised Catholic. 

Steve had assumed that Bucky would be big below the belt, and Steve was thrilled to discover that he was  _ right _ . Bucky was thick, almost as thick as Steve's own wrist (which wasn't saying all that much, considering how scrawny Steve was), and his balls were perched in a messy, wiry bush of pubic hair. 

_ Clearly Bucky hasn't heard about that pesky self-grooming thing _ , Steve thought wryly as he sat up a little, and reached out to cup Bucky's cock in his hands, squeezing the shaft ever so slightly, and making his werewolf shudder. Steve smiled faintly, and did it again.

“Steve, you need to stop that,” Bucky muttered with a breathy laugh, “or this is gonna be over  _ real  _ fast.”

“Sorry,” Steve said as he pulled his hand back. “I just...can't keep my hands off you.”

Bucky grinned like he wanted to agree, but instead spit into his hand.

“ _ Whoa, hold it! _ ” Steve said as he lifted his hands, and before Bucky had time to even ask, Steve rolled onto his side and rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table for a moment before he came back with a tin of petroleum jelly. 

“Use this,” Steve explained as he held it out to Bucky. “It works way better than spit— _ trust me _ .”

Bucky accepted the jar, unscrewed the top, and took a sniff, which immediately made him wrinkle his nose. He glanced to Steve uncertainly, who offered him an encouraging nod.

Bucky scooped out a fingerful of the jelly obediently, though he didn't look overly thrilled with this new development. Steve kept quiet, watching Bucky as he smeared the stuff over his cock, his motions halting at first, then shifting to something more enthusiastic as he discovered just  _ what _ Steve's offering could do, then with his hands still sticky with the jelly, he scooped out a little more, spread it over his fingers, and positioned himself between Steve's parted thighs.

“I guess I don't need to ask if you've done this before,” Bucky teased, and Steve chuckled warmly. 

“It'll be my first time with you,” Steve offered, the sentiment making Bucky smile broadly, and he at last positioned his fingers at Steve's entrance in order to prepare him. 

Bucky's fingers were rough from his labour-intensive lifestyle, but the petroleum jelly made the slide of a single finger painless, and Steve let out an appreciative groan at the feeling. It had been a long,  _ long  _ time since he'd had any kind of sex with a man, and the feeling of Bucky's finger inside him felt very much like a dying man suddenly coming upon an oasis. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Bucky...” Steve moaned, and Bucky laughed a little as he worked in a second finger, pressing a kiss to Steve's collarbone, given that from his present position, he couldn't reach his lips.

“Werewolves have great hearing,” Bucky warned, and Steve nodded in understanding. The  _ last _ thing he wanted was to be interrupted by Bucky's friends. 

When Steve quieted again, Bucky began to scissor Steve, who squirmed and panted as he tried his best not to cry out at the feeling. It was more difficult than Steve had expected, especially when Bucky had  _ very  _ talented hands.

“Shh, Steve,” Bucky murmured again, though it sounded very much like he was trying not to laugh. “Do you want to wake my packmates?”

Steve really wanted to throw out a sarcastic remark to him, but couldn't really manage more than a glare, which caused Bucky to chuckle warmly as he finally retracted his fingers.

Steve trembled with anticipation as he watched Bucky shift his position, kneeling between Steve's spread legs, and with his cock positioned against Steve's prepared entrance, Bucky glanced up at Steve one last time. Steve nodded, and Bucky began to push in.

Steve laid his head back against the pillows, breathing deep as he welcomed Bucky into his body. Bucky's cock was  _ big _ , though admittedly not the biggest he'd ever had—not that he'd tell Bucky that. However, it was still big enough to give Steve a delicious zing of pain with his pleasure, and it took all his effort to not let out any sounds as Bucky carefully slid into him. 

“Steve...” Bucky whispered, his breath escaping him in harsh pants, making it clear that he too was trying to keep quiet. “You feel so good...”

“You too,” Steve replied, breathing deeply as Bucky continued to inch inside. Privately, he was trying to keep his breaths even for one important reason—he didn't want to have an asthma attack until  _ after  _ they'd finished. Unfortunately, he'd had them in the middle of sex before, and it was  _ definitely  _ a mood-killer. “Please, Bucky, keep going...”

Bucky smirked a little, seemingly pleased with the effect he was having on his human, and pushed the rest of the way in, causing Steve to bite the side of his hand in order to stifle a groan.

Bucky only paused for a moment before he pulled out, and thrust back in sharply, making Steve gasp. His body lurched back on the small bed, making the tiniest squeak in the process, which Bucky didn't seem to notice as he thrust in again with a faint snarl.

Steve wasn't really in a position to do anything about the squeaky bed, and he was fairly certain they'd be subject to merciless teasing the following morning no matter what they did. In contrast, Bucky appeared too far gone to even notice the squeaking, pumping into Steve like part of a well-oiled machine, his glorious body slick with sweat, and his head thrown back in an expression of pure, unhindered pleasure. 

Gasping with every punishing thrust, Steve locked his legs around Bucky's waist, drawing him closer while he turned his head to bite a pillow in an effort to silence himself, given that he was wholly unused to needing to keep quiet when he was having sex. Steve grunted into the thin cotton, breathing harshly through his nose, while the bed kept up its persistent squeaking every time Bucky pounded into him.

Steve was not even close to being a virgin, but something in this act with Bucky felt  _ different.  _ Each thrust was almost transcendent, and it both made Steve want to burst into tears and cry out with joy all at once. It was so magical, and for the first time Steve began to truly understand what Bucky had meant about them being  _ true mates. _

When Steve felt himself getting close, Bucky almost seemed to sense it and he immediately brought a hand to Steve's cock. It was still sticky with enough petroleum jelly that he was able to jerk Steve to orgasm without having to pause, timing it almost perfectly so that they came within moments of each other. 

Gasping, Steve reached for the bedside table and grabbed his asthma cigarettes before Bucky had even finished pulling out of him. Though Bucky looked concerned, Steve didn't pause to explain as he opened one of the packs, then rooted around in the bedside table for some matches, and lit up. 

There was no precise way for Steve to describe the smell and taste of his asthma cigarettes. It was a vaguely floral aroma intermingled with that of woodsmoke and burning leaves, with a familiar albeit bitter aftertaste. Bucky didn't seem to mind the smell, though he did look a little concerned as he crawled up the bed and curled up around Steve protectively, but not before he bowed down to lick the drops of cum off Steve's chest, making Steve giggle a little at the sensation. 

“Sex takes a lot outta me,” Steve explained with a faint smile when Bucky had finished cleaning him up, then took another puff. “It's not your fault, Buck, try not to feel bad. My stupid lungs just don't like it when I exert myself.” He paused, and added, “didn't mind so much this time, though—you were  _ incredible. _ ”

“You weren't so bad yourself,” Bucky replied as he curled up closer, and began to nudge at Steve's neck with his nose while Steve smoked. He could feel Bucky breathing deeply, like he was getting some sort of comfort from just  _ smelling  _ Steve. Steve wanted to ask about it, but he knew that neither of them were in the right headspace for deep questions at the moment, especially when Steve just wanted to bask in the afterglow of the best sex he'd ever had.

“Steve?” Bucky ventured when Steve pinched the end of his cigarette, and tucked the unused portion back into the box.

“Yeah?” Steve asked as he rolled over and curled up with Bucky. The werewolf's eyes were shiny, both with visible fatigue and the burning desire to say something, though Steve had no idea what. 

Bucky bit his lip, not answering right away, and some of the curiosity in Bucky's eyes seemed to dim a little, and he tried to look away, but Steve caught his chin, and pressed a firm kiss to Bucky's lips before he murmured, “spit it out, Buck.”

“Uh...I was just wondering...if next time...we could...switch?”

The question sounded genuine to Steve, but at the same time he got the distinct impression that that wasn't exactly the question that Bucky had intended to ask. Steve was too tired to even attempt some kind of interrogation however, and merely offered Bucky a kind smile.

“Sure we can, sweetheart,” Steve replied, feeling a little giddy at the notion of topping Bucky, and the adorable blush that the pet name had caused to spread over Bucky's cheeks. Very few of his former partners were ever interested in taking turns on top, and it was really nice to know that Bucky was not just willing to switch, but also  _ keen to. _

Steve pressed another kiss to Bucky's lips, and Bucky immediately caught his cheek in order to draw the kiss out a little longer. Steve felt his heart swell with affection for the man in bed next to him, hardly able to believe that nearly dying in the woods thanks to his no-account family had brought him to such an amazing person. 

When they parted, Steve happily curled up in Bucky's arms, and the werewolf wrapped his arms around his human, drawing him into a protective, loving embrace. 

As Steve drifted off, he could have sworn he saw Bucky's expression dissolve from something pleasant to something rife with worry.

Unfortunately, Steve couldn't make heads or tails of it before sleep claimed him, and he drifted into the realm of dreams, leaving tomorrow's worries for tomorrow.


	10. The Cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I wasn't able to edit this as thoroughly as I usually do due to timing, but I hope it still lives up to everyone's expectations :3 Next update is scheduled for July 12th. Enjoy!

Chapter Ten – The Cure

Steve had thought that Bucky's friends would take off the moment that he got back, but for days afterwards, they chose to stick around instead. 

That wasn't to say Steve disliked their company; it was great to have more people around than just Bucky (of course, Steve adored Bucky, but he'd be lying if Steve denied that he was getting a little starved for interaction with other people) and they had made themselves so useful around the cabin that Steve hardly needed to lift a finger, drawing the line only when yet another werewolf tried to throw out his coffee and sourdough starter.

“Steve likes stuff that smells awful,” Bucky explained proudly to Gabe, who was the latest subject of Steve's ire for trying to come between him and his coffee. Given that the group had all been raised as werewolves, none of them had ever had coffee before—save Jim, who claimed that the human and werewolf populations in England were much more integrated, and sided with Steve over the magic of coffee.

As a result, Steve somewhat reluctantly shared his coffee with Jim in the mornings, while the others all gazed at them with mixed looks of confusion and mild disgust. 

As for the starter, Gabe had complained that he couldn't advocate keeping 'some stuff' around that smelled like feet. However, he had promptly changed his tune when Steve brought out one of his sourdough bread loaves during lunch one day, and no one said another word about the starter.

The longer they stayed, the more Steve got the impression that they didn't want to leave. Bucky was in the thick of their mischief, going out in groups for hunts and coming back with more meat than before, in particular as the late winter began to inch into spring, and more animals began to wake up and rejoin the world.

Of course, the presence of the group (or The Howlies, as Bucky referred to them) made sleeping arrangements a little complicated, but Bucky seemed perfectly happy to bequeath the big bed in the living room to the Howlies, while he and Steve took the bedroom. 

Steve could confidently say that he loved this arrangement, if only for the wild sex he got on a near nightly basis now. As promised, Bucky seemed happy to switch with Steve, and was just as enthusiastic bottoming as he was topping, though his joy always seemed to dim when they'd finished, and Steve would reach for his asthma cigarettes, smoking his way through one or two while Bucky held him. 

It was in these moments that Steve got the impression that not everything was as perfect as it seemed on the outside. Every time he reached for a smoke, Bucky's expression would crumple into something sad and thoughtful, like there was something weighing on his mind, but he couldn't quite voice it. 

At first, Steve had thought that Bucky just didn't like the smell of his smokes, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Bucky had never been afraid to complain when something bothered his sensitive werewolf nose, and Steve didn't think that this was any different. 

Clearly, something else was going on.

Around what Steve estimated to be late March, they woke to an almost unseasonably warm day, the bright blue sky a blessed reprieve from the wintry overcast. Over a chaotic breakfast of oatmeal and sourdough toast, all the Howlies began to make plans for the day, Bucky leading the charge of who would do what.

“Boy oh boy,” Dum-Dum interjected teasingly, “look who thinks he's alpha now.”

“Think you could do better than me?” Bucky shot back with a similarly playful tone, “you don't got the chops to be a leader, Dum-Dum.”

“And I never wanted to be,” he conceded with a smile. “I just mean that some stuff never changes. You still love being leader.”

“Somebody's gotta do it,” Morita said with a wry smirk. “And Bucko's the least likely one of us to drive us into the ground.”

“Damn straight,” Bucky retorted with a smirk, and the entire group began to laugh merrily.

~*~

Though Steve hated to complain, especially when Bucky and the others had done so much for him, he couldn't help but feel like little more than a useless lump compared to the werewolves he found himself sharing space with.

That wasn't to say he felt insignificant compared to them—he'd long since come to terms with the fact that he was always going to be a little guy with the lungs of an eighty-year-old. He knew that his size wasn't equal to his worth.

Unfortunately, the others didn't seem to have gotten the memo.

_ “Oh, no Steve, just relax...” _

_ “Steve, you don't have to do that...” _

_ “Steve, I got it, you just rest...” _

Steve ground his teeth as he jammed his hands into the sourdough bread dough he'd been working on to keep himself busy. Gabe had finally wandered out to help the others with their kills for the day, enabling Steve to do something more than sit around like some dainty little housewife. He wanted to say something to them, to  _ tell  _ them to knock it off, especially when Bucky hadn't been doing that at all—in fact, he'd been pretty enthusiastic about Steve helping out like he usually did, but whenever Bucky was busy with something else, the guys would gently suggest that Steve  _ relax _ , instead of doing anything even remotely resembling his usual chores.

_ I guess this is what a dame feels like when she wants to get a job, _ Steve mused sourly as he added more flour to the dough before he punched it down again. He knew they meant well, and overall they were a great bunch of guys, but  _ how  _ could he convince them that he wasn't  _ helpless _ ?

It made sense that they worried about the guy they were most likely to step on, but Morita wasn't much bigger than him, and they never made  _ him _ sit on the bleachers. 

Steve grumbled again as he kneaded the dough a little more roughly than usual, sweat beading on his forehead as he worked. He was so focused on the dough that he hardly noticed Bucky come in, though he did notice the way Bucky staggered back a little, like Steve had been screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs.

“You're angry,” Bucky said bluntly, and Steve snorted. 

“How'd you guess?” Steve shot back, which made Bucky frown. 

“Can I help?” Bucky asked as he stepped hesitantly into the kitchen, and when Steve didn't snap at him, Bucky stopped at his back before he wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, then pressed his nose to Steve's neck, nuzzling him affectionately. “I don't like it when you're upset.”

“Maybe tell your pack to stop treating me like a damn princess,” Steve grumbled as he felt all the fight drain out of him from Bucky's embrace, and a warmth began to pool in his belly when Bucky began to press tender kisses along the side of his throat. “I—I know they mean well, but I'm not  _ helpless _ . It's driving me nuts...”

“They've been doing that?” Bucky asked, some of the softness leaving his voice, and it was replaced by genuine concern. When Steve nodded, he could feel Bucky frown against his neck. “I'll talk to them, I promise. I won't let them treat you differently just because you're human.”

“Is that the problem?” Steve asked as he abandoned his dough, and turned to face Bucky. “It's not 'cause I'm a little guy, it's 'cause I'm human?”

“It might be a bit of both,” Bucky admitted with an apologetic smile. His hands began to tease the ties on Steve's slacks, even as he kept focused on the conversation at hand. Unfortunately, Steve wasn't entirely as successful as Bucky at keeping his mind on their discussion when he now knew just how talented those damn hand were. “It might also be because they saw you at your weakest, when you were sick. I don't believe they're doing it on purpose; they're probably just worried you'll get attacked again.”

Steve couldn't help but chuckle a little at Bucky's attempt at using the asthma vernacular. He leant in to offer Bucky a kiss, then without a word, he turned back to his dough.

The action made Bucky groan, but Steve's attempt at disinterest seemed to speak to some part of Bucky's mind, and as Steve worked the bread dough, the werewolf at his back seemed to be redoubling his efforts to get Steve  _ in the mood. _

Admittedly, he was well past in the mood, but if he left the dough as-is, he knew that it would dry out and be useless. As much as he wanted to pitch everything to the floor and get fucked on the table, he needed to finish this before he dealt with his horny werewolf.

With Bucky still at his back, Steve somehow managed to finish making the dough, shaping it into loaves, and oiling it properly before he covered it in a towel and moved to wash his hands. All the while, Steve could feel Bucky's eyes burning a hole into his clothing.

When he did at last finish, Bucky let out a cackle of triumph as Steve turned around and leapt at him, crushing their lips together in a hard kiss.

“Bedroom?” Steve breathed against Bucky's lips, and the werewolf let out a soft groan.

“Bedroom,” he agreed at once, kissing Steve again as he effortlessly carried the human away from the kitchen and to the privacy of their own room.

When they made it to their little love nest, Steve had expected Bucky to throw him down and rip his clothes off, but instead the werewolf spun around and fell back against the sheets, his grin widening when Steve let out a little grunt of surprise before their lips crashed together again. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ , Bucky...” Steve groaned as they shifted and fidgeted until Bucky was lying comfortably on the bed, and Steve was straddling the werewolf's hips.

“That's the idea,” Bucky shot back with another grin, and Steve raised his eyebrows curiously at the brunet. “I want you to fuck me, ride me, whatever you want...I just want you on top.”

The way Bucky spoke, paired with the way his eyes seemed to glimmer as he voiced the request gave Steve the impression that Bucky had some sort of ulterior motive, but he was too turned on to really question it. 

Instead, Steve hastily unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it away, and he smirked when he heard Bucky inhale sharply before he reached up to run his hands over Steve's chest.

“Sweet Moon, you're still so beautiful...” Bucky breathed, and Steve felt himself blush, which caused Bucky to chuckle again. “You don't like it when I call you beautiful?”

“That's not it, just not used to hearing it so much,” Steve admitted with an awkward laugh, it shifting to a soft gasp as Bucky drew him close, and planted a warm kiss on his lips. The tender touch was enough to make Steve's cock  _ ache _ with desire, something that Bucky did not miss as he began to tease Steve's cock through his clothes, and he groaned into the kiss. 

With mildly shaking hands, Steve helped Bucky worm out of his clothing before Steve got up and all but jumped out of his slacks, and hastened to the night table for the petroleum jelly before he leapt back on the bed, making it creak, and causing Bucky to laugh out loud at Steve's antics. 

“I love it when you're so excited for me,” Bucky purred as Steve straddled him, before he dragged his human down into a messy kiss. “Makes me want you even  _ more _ .”

“You're easy to want,” Steve retorted as he ran one hand up Bucky's abdomen and across his chest. “All these muscles...makes me want to eat you alive...”

“Talking like a wolf more and more these days,” Bucky said with an approving note to his voice, and Steve couldn't help but laugh.

“You know what they say...you are what you eat.”

Bucky turned his head to the side as he snorted with laughter, but it quickly shifted to a gasp as Steve unscrewed the lid of the jar in his hand, and began to hastily slick Bucky's cock with the stuff.

Bucky seemed to be reeling a little from how fast Steve was moving, watching with a bleary sort of gaze as Steve tossed aside the jar and climbed back into Bucky's lap, positioning himself over his cock, and Bucky's eyes immediately widened as he reached out to touch Steve's thigh.

“Baby, don't,” Bucky panted, “you'll—you'll hurt yourself...”

“It's okay, sweetheart,” Steve breathed as he stopped what he was doing long enough to press a kiss to Bucky's lips before he reached down, and began to tease his werewolf's deliciously thick shaft with his fingers. “I'm not so stupid as to get you in me with no stretching first. This is just a different  _ kind _ of stretching...”

“D-Different kind?” Bucky managed to gasp out, and Steve grinned. 

“Watch, sweetheart.”

Still grinning, Steve shifted backwards until he was positioned over Bucky's cock. Bucky still looked concerned, but Steve decided against reassuring him for the dozenth time, and instead began to press forward with his master plan.

_ Press _ being the operative term, he letting out a soft groan as he pushed down slowly, gradually, on Bucky's cock, both of them letting out a soft gasp at the same time, which told Steve that Bucky was finally getting the gist of his plan. 

Steve barely pushed himself down on Bucky's cock before he pulled back, then repeated the action, this time having Bucky's cock slide a little deeper into his hole. Each time, he went a little deeper, leaving his werewolf in a state of what seemed to be near-madness, he whining and squirming on the bed as though the slow, gradually growing pressure on his cock was driving him completely out of his mind. 

On the next thrust, Steve decided that Bucky had suffered enough, and the werewolf let out a distinctly wolfish snarl as Steve at last let Bucky thrust all the way in. 

For a moment, Steve honestly thought that Bucky might cum on the spot as he groaned appreciatively and dug his fingers deep into Steve's hips. However, Steve didn't allow himself to think on it for more than a moment before he bounced in Bucky's lap again, both of them grunting in tandem as Steve built up a rhythm hastily, rather than gradually, gasping sharply as he moved and sweat began to coat his skin in an iridescent sheen. 

“Keep going, baby, keep going,” Bucky panted as he arched his hips with every thrust, and Steve groaned as he kept moving, panting hard as he tried to keep up with his werewolf, but his breath was getting harder to catch. He hoped that Bucky wouldn't notice.

Thankfully, tensing his ass seemed to help speed things along, and Bucky came with a sharp shout before he immediately flipped them over and sucked Steve to completion.

Bucky fell back against the bed as he tried to catch his breath, but in contrast, Steve was wheezing. He fumbled on the night table for his smokes with shaking hands, and Bucky watched him with a look of deep concern, though he didn't say anything about it, which was a relief. Bucky had long since learnt that fussing over Steve wasn't exactly a helpful tactic. 

“Your lungs are problem...attacking again?” Bucky asked awkwardly, and Steve chuckled as he blew out a thin stream of smoke.

“You could say that,” Steve replied before he took another puff. “It's only 'cause you're so good at wearing me out.”

“I worry about you, Steve,” Bucky said softly as he shifted closer to Steve on the bed, and touched his cheek. “Not because I don't think you're strong—I know that you are. But your damn lungs aren't so strong, and I worry about something happening to you.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked as he turned to look at Bucky. “You got a cure for this damn thing?” Bucky winced, but before he could say anything, Steve grimaced and mumbled, “sorry. It's just...frustrating. I hate getting out of breath just 'cause the air is too humid or from having sex or something. I'm not weak—I'm  _ not _ . But my lungs are just...real messed up.”

“I know, Steve, you can hold your own,” Bucky reassured him as he shuffled in close and nuzzled the crook of Steve's neck, making him laugh weakly. “But...what if I said I might have it?”

“Have what?”

“A cure.”

Steve froze. 

He turned slowly to face Bucky, but his serious expression didn't change. Steve flicked the end of the cigarette to get rid of the ash, then took another puff. Bucky didn't say anything as he watched Steve silently, the werewolf's eyes seeming to be pleading for something—though for what, Steve had no idea.

Steve waited for Bucky to explain himself, but he never did; he just kept  _ staring. _ Steve didn't have a clue what that was about, and it was more than a little unnerving. As he stubbed out the smoke using his fingers, he finally turned to Bucky and reached out to wrap his arms around the man's deliciously muscled shoulders while he asked, “are you planning to explain yourself sometime today?”

“It's just...I've been thinking...” Bucky began hesitantly, his gaze fixed firmly downward as he spoke, something which Steve  _ knew  _ was a submissive act for a werewolf—he'd spent enough time with them lately to learn that much. 

“Yeah?” Steve prompted when Bucky never finished his sentence, and Bucky blushed faintly as he lifted his eyes back up to meet Steve's. 

“I was thinking I could help you. Make your lungs better.”

“Yeah?” Steve said again, “and how do you plan on doing that?”

“Well...I could make you like me.” 


	11. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry for the lateness, guys! It's been a hectic week of health issues (not covid, thank the gods, just other stuff) so I haven't had much time to write or edit. Please enjoy, and the next update is scheduled for July 26th. 

Chapter Eleven – Decisions

“I beg your pardon?” Steve squeaked, his eyes bulging in his sockets as he gazed across at Bucky. 

“I could make you like me,” he repeated, his voice just as soft, just as earnest as the first time he'd said it. Bucky reached out to touch Steve's cheek, the contact gentle and loving, almost like he thought too much pressure would cause Steve to shatter. “Your breathing disease scares me, Steve. I don't think you're  _ less  _ because of who you are, but your disease could be cured with The Bite. I just don't want to lose you, especially when I know something that could save you a lot of pain.”

Steve listened very carefully to Bucky as he spoke. After all, he'd spent years and years listening to people try to change them for their own gain, simply because Steve's physique or physical capabilities were somehow a problem for  _ them _ , not him. It surely didn't sound like Bucky was trying to change him for him, but to heal Steve's shit lungs.

“Will it really heal my lungs?” Steve asked after a moment, and Bucky nodded.

“It will do a lot more than that,” Bucky said softly, almost shamefully. “It will...change you. Make you stronger.”

“Stronger how?”

“You need muscles to maintain the change at the full moon—you'll need that physical strength. So...you probably won't stay little after The Bite,” Bucky explained, turning his head away as he spoke, almost in a motion of shame, like he felt  _ bad  _ about Steve getting stronger.

Except, Steve didn't think that that was it. Bucky didn't thrive on being some big top all the time. He hardly complained when Steve took care of him after that first full moon, and seemed to enjoy receiving as much as giving. It seemed more like Bucky felt bad about changing Steve at all—like he liked Steve just the way he was.

The notion made Steve's heart swell with affection for the werewolf, and he reached out to cradle Bucky's face in his hand, coaxing his gaze back to meet Steve's. When he did so, Bucky's eyes were noticeably vulnerable, almost as though he was afraid of Steve for some reason—or afraid that Steve might misunderstand him?

Steve honestly didn't know which it was, but he did recognize that Bucky was doing his damnedest to impart on Steve that it wasn't because he was trying to  _ change  _ Steve, but because he was trying to  _ help  _ him. That made all the difference in the world.

Instead of responding verbally, Steve leant in and kissed his werewolf. 

Bucky let out a little sigh that sounded to Steve like equal parts bliss and relief as he kissed him back, drawing Steve a little closer as he did so. Steve would  _ love  _ another round with Bucky, but the werewolf had given him an awful lot to think about, and that had effectively chased away his arousal—for the moment, at least.

“You really want this for my health?” Steve blurted out as the kiss broke, and he stared up into Bucky's eyes, searching them for any small sign of deception. “Not 'cause you want me to be something else?”

“There's something someone in my old pack once told me,” Bucky said as he rolled onto his back and pulled Steve with him so that he was partially draped over Bucky's chest. “His name was Erskine, and he was the pack's healer. He patched me up after every tussle I got into, then after Alpha beat me to a bloody pulp.” Bucky paused, and chuckled softly. “He wasn't supposed to, you know, I was supposed to hobble out of the territory on my own, but he helped me secretly. Anyway, he said to me,  _ 'A strong man, who has known power all his life, will lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion.' _ ”

“That sounds like you,” Steve mused as he stared up at Bucky. “Except the weak part.”

“I'm a weakling compared to a lot of other wolves,” Bucky replied, but his voice was warm, rather than teasing. “I got beat up more times than I could count, then when I thought I was ready, got my ass handed to me by Alpha. I'm nothing special.”

“But you  _ are _ ,” Steve insisted as he wormed his way up Bucky's body, and pecked his lips lightly. “You're the best person I've ever met. Strong in more ways than just the physical. You get it more than most guys I grew up with.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky said with a weak laugh, almost one of embarrassment, like he wasn't used to having all the attention fixed on him. “Um...so, what do you think?”

Steve bit his lip. He knew they'd circled back to Bucky's request, and though it had the potential to help him with his asthma issue, it was still a  _ big  _ request. 

“Will it hurt?”

“The Bite itself?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded. “I can make it so it won't hurt much, but the change...it hurts.”

“You mean on the full moon?” Steve asked, but even as he voiced the question, he knew that that hadn't been what Bucky meant.

“No, I meant the change itself,” Bucky said gently as he reached out to touch Steve's cheek reverently. “Dum-Dum is the only one of us who was changed, the rest of us were born. He was a foot shorter...before.”

“Oh... _ oh. _ ” Steve stared. “It changes you that much?” 

“It can,” Bucky affirmed with a nod. “It's different for everyone. It hurts, and it can take days to complete. I don't like the idea of changing people unless they're completely sure—it's not an easy thing to go through.”

“Have you done it before?” Steve asked timidly, and Bucky smiled at him faintly while he reached up to card his fingers through Steve's hair. 

“No,” he said firmly. “You're the only one I've ever thought might need The Bite to help your lungs.”

“Oh, that's good,” Steve said, and Bucky chuckled while his fingers continued to thread through Steve's hair, tickling his scalp and making him feel delightfully relaxed.

“Why's that good?”

“I kind of don't like the idea of you doing this for anyone else,” Steve admitted with a laugh, and he felt his face warm up when Bucky started to chuckle.

“Oh, jealous man, huh?” Bucky teased, which made Steve laugh again. 

“Only a little,” Steve retorted as he ran one hand up and down Bucky's chest teasingly, stopping just shy of his groin. “How could I  _ not  _ be jealous, when you're so damn beautiful?”

This time it was Bucky's turn to blush, and Steve grinned. In response, Bucky grabbed Steve by the hips and flipped them over, making Steve yelp in surprise, and Bucky devoured Steve's lips in a hungry kiss. 

“I want to take you one more time,” Bucky breathed against Steve's lips, “then we can go back to the world.”

_ “Yes.” _

~*~

The pair made it back into the main area of the cabin more than an hour later, both of them adjusting their clothes as they moved. Gabe looked up from the lunch pot he was tending to and smirked, which caused Steve to blush, and Bucky to grin lasciviously. 

Bucky paused to peck Steve's lips, then turned to head outside. He stopped to speak to Morita, who seemed to be building a bonfire in a spot clear of snow, then moved to climb the ladder up to the meat pole.

Steve didn't really know what to do with himself as he watched the others go about the daily tasks. Morita and Bucky were breaking down some of the bigger pieces of meat and building up a fire, Steve assumed to dry it so it wouldn't spoil as the days got warmer. Gabe was in the kitchen cooking up a storm, Dum-Dum was chopping wood, while Jacques and Jim appeared to be missing, which Steve assumed meant they were either hunting or foraging.

Steve's eyes remained fixed on Dum-Dum, however. In truth, they hadn't had tons of contact up to that point; Dum-Dum spent a lot of time doing the big manual labour jobs—chopping firewood, felling dead trees, fixing the cabin when something broke, and maintaining the meat pole so that scavengers couldn't reach it or knock it over.

That wasn't to say that Dum-Dum made a point of ignoring Steve or anything like that; he was a nice guy and just as welcoming as the others. However, because of his size he was allotted a lot of the jobs that his bulk was practically designed for, and Steve didn't exactly fit into that category.

Now, they seemed to have a connection. Dum-Dum had been human once, and he could answer all the questions about The Change that Bucky couldn't.

Pushing his nervousness aside, Steve grabbed one of the oversized sweaters from the closet (Bucky never did finish those winter clothes he'd promised Steve) and jammed his feet into Morita's extra deerskin boots, which were much closer to his size than the others on offer. Then, bracing himself in case Dum-Dum didn't want to talk about it, he stepped outside into the mild winter day, and strode over to where Dum-Dum was still chopping wood.

“Hey, Dum-Dum,” Steve said as casually as he could manage when he neared him, though he stayed a few feet away, mostly to avoid the swing of the axe. 

“Phewwww!” Dum-Dum cried in response, paired with a loud, boisterous laugh. “You two at it again, huh? I can smell Bucky all  _ over  _ you.”

“Yeah, we do that,” Steve replied wryly while a faint blush suffused his cheeks. “Uh, can I talk to you for a sec? Um...Bucky said something to me, and I have it under good authority that you're the person to ask about it.”

“Yeah, like what? That I'm the handsomest? 'Cause I already knew that.” Dum-Dum shot Steve with a cheeky grin, which caused him to laugh. 

“No, um...” Steve trailed off, and winced. “Bucky, he...uh...he asked me a question, and he said that you're the only one who'd get it...because of your...your past.”

“You mean my turning?” Dum-Dum asked without pause while he placed another log on the chopping block. “Jeez, kid, why didn't you just  _ say so? _ Are all humans this cagey, or have I just forgotten?”

“I wasn't sure it was a thing you're supposed to talk about,” Steve admitted with a wince as Dum-Dum split the wood with one swift motion of the axe. “I didn't exactly give Bucky a straight answer when he asked  _ me _ .”

“Which make sense, it's a pretty big request,” Dum-Dum agreed as he hacked the log halves into quarters before he tossed them aside, and went for another. “It was Alpha who did it for me when I was a kid. I was the ninth in a long line of boys—dad had plenty of hands to work the farm, and I was just another mouth to feed. They left me in the woods one day, so deep I had no chance of finding my way back. My brothers said we were playing Hide and Seek. I hid, and by nightfall I pretty much figured out that they weren't coming back. Alpha found me, and asked if I wanted a new family. I didn't hesitate.”

“Does it hurt?” Steve asked, while he logged the new piece of information about this Alpha guy away for later study—the mixed stories he kept hearing was making it more than a little difficult to figure him out. On the one hand, he beat Bucky up and kicked him out of his home. On the other, he gave Dum-Dum a new one. Why?

“Oh yeah, like a motherfucker,” Dum-Dum said with a warm laugh as he kept chopping the wood. “It's like...a thousand-thousand bees stinging you all at once, or being trampled to death by a herd of elephants, or two giants trying to stretch out your spine and use it as a jump rope...I was out for three days before I woke up, and I was sore for almost a week after. The healer said I got off  _ easy _ .”

“ _ That's  _ easy?” Steve demanded, and Dum-Dum laughed again. 

“The Moon asks a whole hell of a lot of you; she doesn't skimp,” Dum-Dum said as he cut into another log. “If you can get through it, she gives you a new lease on life. Yeah, it's painful, but every birth is painful...you know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Steve replied, easing back a little as he watched Dum-Dum to continue to chop wood with little effort. He was smiling a laughing, acting like nothing in the world was wrong. He had no trouble doing a physical activity without keeling over from exhaustion. Steve wished he could lay claim to the same thing. Would The Bite really make it possible for him to do the same things that Dum-Dum did?

“So, you gonna do it?” Dum-Dum asked as he paused his chopping, and used the end of his scarf to mop his forehead. “Take The Bite, I mean?”

“I don't know,” Steve replied honestly, and Dum-Dum nodded in understanding, which was nice. He didn't look hurt or offended by Steve's indecision, but instead like he  _ got it. _

“Makes sense,” Dum-Dum agreed as he propped the axe against the ground and leant against it. “It's not just our former bodies we give up, but our humanity too. Born wolves don't get that; it's a lot to ask of one person.”

“So I don't need to feel bad about being unsure?” Steve asked with a grin, and Dum-Dum began to laugh heartily.

“Hell no, man. If you wanna do it, I'll support it, but if you don't want to, that's fine too—you gotta be okay with you, and not be what Bucky or anyone else wants you to be.”

“It sounds almost like you're speaking from experience,” Steve mused aloud, and Dum-Dum chuckled warmly.

“Sort of. It's different 'cause I was a kid when I took The Bite, and I had no other options,” Dum-Dum explained as he picked the axe back up, and moved back over to the wood pile to grab another log. “You got options, Steve. Yeah, The Bite will fix your lungs and any other medical issues you might have. You'll bulk up in a matter of days, and you'll get bigger. You'll live longer, too. But...the life of a werewolf isn't the easiest thing in the world. We can't live with humans, so going to a city is out of the question; it'll completely mess up your senses. And werewolves are real territorial, especially when it comes to True Mate pair bonds like you and Bucky. So if one of us even  _ looks  _ at Bucky or you sideways, one of you will probably try to fight us.”

“But I don't want to fight you,” Steve protested, his brow knitting together in confusion, and Dum-Dum laughed again.

“It don't matter, buddy. Your instincts will tell you that someone is after your mate, and you'll get territorial. Bucky's like that with you already, so think how much more potent it'll be after you're turned.” Dum-Dum paused to split the log on the chopping block, then added, “it does calm down after a while, but it can take up to a few months for you to get used to all your new senses, plus changing with the Moon, and learning to turn outside of her light and everything.”

“That sounds like a lot to get used to,” Steve said, his eyes drifting away from Dum-Dum, and to the others. From his vantage point, he could see Morita and Bucky breaking down the meat and drying it in thin strips over a bonfire, while Jim and Jacques were busy carrying out a few carcasses from the woods, and what looked like large bundles of twigs. Gabe was flitting around the kitchen, but poked his head out to announce that food would be ready soon. Steve turned back to Dum-Dum and asked, “is it worth it?”

“Oh yeah,” Dum-Dum said with another easy smile. “It was definitely worth it.”

~*~

After lunch, everyone meandered back outside to return to work, and Steve followed Dum-Dum in order to pepper him with more questions, but at the same time he did his best to make himself useful, and carried bundles of the chopped wood either to Bucky and Morita's bonfire, inside, or in the big pile of chopped wood by the back door.

When evening finally set in and everyone meandered inside to eat that night, Jim teasingly announced that he had a 'gift' for Steve, and produced a full quart of fresh milk. He set it at Steve's place setting upon the table with a flourish, and the others laughed good-naturedly while Gabe doled out portions of spicy stew. In truth, Steve liked Gabe's cooking, but it was still too spicy for his Irish tastebuds so he was  _ deeply _ grateful for the milk. 

Throughout the meal, Bucky kept eyeing Steve, his expression leaning more towards concerned than hurt that Steve had yet to give him an answer. Tactfully, Dum-Dum also seemed to understand that Steve hadn't come to a decision, and didn't mention it one way or the other. 

Steve insisted on cleaning up when they'd all finished eating, and luckily it was still cold enough outside to conserve the leftovers for another meal. Bucky hung around the kitchen while Steve scrubbed at the dishes, and the others headed over to the living room to chat and play cards.

Though Bucky didn't say a word as he sat there, Steve could feel the werewolf's eyes boring a hole into his back. He decided to ignore it, just to see what Bucky might do, and within a few minutes Bucky had gotten up, crossed the little space, and wrapped his arms around Steve's waist while he continued to do the dishes. 

“You smell good,” Bucky murmured as he nuzzled at Steve's throat with the tip of his nose. “I like that you don't smell scared. I was worried I scared you with...what I asked.”

“It's a lot to take in,” Steve replied while he tried to focus on the dishes, but with Bucky holding him so tenderly, it made it hard to keep his mind off throwing his werewolf to the ground and riding him into the sunset. He rinsed off the big soup pot and set it aside to dry, then grabbed the top bowl from the stack. “I want to do it, but Dum-Dum said a lot of things that make me nervous, too. I don't want it to change who I am.”

“It won't.”

“And you know that for sure, do you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said as he planted a soft kiss to the hollow of Bucky's throat. “It gives you new instincts, but it won't take away your old ones. You'll still be a good man.”

“So I'm a good man?”

“The  _ best _ ,” Bucky affirmed with a warm chuckle. “I wanted to help you, that's why I offered. I don't want to make you into something you're not; I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Steve replied as he kept washing the dishes, “You never struck me as the kinda guy who'd try to change me to suit yourself—I do get that.”

Bucky kept worshipping Steve's neck as he spoke, which was progressively making it harder to concentrate. Really, it was a damn miracle he hadn't broken any of the bowls yet. 

“Good,” Bucky said as he kissed Steve's neck again. “Because I want you to be happy  _ and  _ healthy, Steve. So if you want to stay human, I'll respect that.”

Steve didn't know why, but Bucky's sentiment suddenly made him want to cry. He wasn't really much of a crier, but in that moment it was such a relief to know that Bucky wasn't trying to push him towards a decision one way or the other that it made him want to bawl like a damn baby. 

Steve abandoned the dishes as he turned in Bucky's embrace, and wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist in a firm hug. 

Bucky chuckled, moving in for a gentle kiss, one that almost felt tentative and searching, like he was trying to figure out what Steve was thinking with just the power of his kiss. 

Which was stupid, really, as Steve had—at last—come to a decision. 

“Okay, Buck,” Steve breathed against his lips. “I'll do it. I'll let you bite me.”

Bucky froze.

He pulled back from Steve, just enough to get a good look at him. His expression was less joyous and more concerned, like he was trying to make sure that Steve wasn't just saying it for Bucky's benefit.

At the very least, he must have looked the part, because a moment later Bucky smiled broadly, and kissed Steve again.

With the elephant in the room at last seen to, Steve turned back to the dishes. Bucky stayed at his back, hugging him like Steve was some kind of teddy bear, and both pointedly ignored the teasing remarks from the others. 

Steve smiled to himself as he leant against Bucky and continued washing the dishes. True, he was nervous about taking The Bite, but at the same time, he knew that he wanted it. He wanted to be with Bucky, and he wanted to be healthy enough to stick around for a long, long time. 

And whatever pain came with it, Steve knew, in the end, it would be worth it.


	12. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so sorry guys for the massive delay. Some ongoing medical issues kind of kept me from posting on time—not Covid, some other stuff. Its super fun being me right now, let me tell you. Anyway, I'm hoping there won't be any more delays, and next update is scheduled for August 30th.

Chapter Twelve – Preparations

Steve thrust his hips up, and Bucky groaned. His werewolf was fisting the sheets as he pressed his ass back against Steve, urging him to continue, and Steve shuddered. Bucky never felt like such a big man as when he asked Steve to top him, moaning and squirming like a bitch in heat, and wholly uncaring how it might look to an outsider to have someone as small as Steve top such a big guy.

Of course, the only outsider Steve could think of was that one time Morita walked in on them, and the man had been _much _more careful in the future about knocking first, and it hadn't really bothered him anyway—in fact, it had only led to some good-natured teasing about how insatiable the pair of them were, and not much more.

Steve let out a soft gasp as he banished the thought of Morita from his mind and kept his focus on his partner. Everyone was asleep already, and there was no hope of any of them walking in on them this time anyway.

“_Fuck, _Steve...please don't stop...” Bucky groaned from beneath him, and Steve felt the sound of Bucky's plea resonate through him, making him shudder and moan as he picked up his pace, his breathing shallow as he drove harder into his werewolf, making Bucky tremble violently and clench around Steve's cock, which in turn made Steve shout without meaning to before he came, and reached down to pump Bucky to completion.

The pair collapsed onto the bed, and Steve drew Bucky into his arms, spooning him as best he could, despite their size difference. Bucky passed Steve his asthma cigarettes and matches without a word, and Steve accepted them gladly.

“Tomorrow's the big day,” Bucky said softly after Steve had lit up and took a long drag. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” Steve admitted as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Dum-Dum makes it sound kind of painful.”

“I'll be with you for the whole thing, no matter how long it lasts,” Bucky swore as he rolled over to face Steve. He leant in for a kiss, which Steve happily accepted, before he reluctantly turned away to take another puff off his cigarette.

“Is this normal for a werewolf bite, anyway? All this ceremony, I mean?” Steve asked as he thought back to everything that had happened over the last few days. The others had continued to stick around, helping Bucky prepare everything, and whenever Steve or Bucky asked about them heading back to their home, they made some sort of feeble excuse as to why they couldn't. Steve thought it was suspicious, while Bucky appeared thrilled by their continued presence. Steve hadn't yet forgotten the pretty woman who had come to yell at the Howlies, and he thought it was a little strange that after all that, they had managed to stay for so long.

“Honestly? Not really,” Bucky admitted with a nervous laugh, though Steve couldn't exactly work out why the werewolf was nervous. “I just thought...you deserve it.”

“Deserve it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied as he stretched out on the bed, and let out a leisurely groan as his spine popped audibly in a few places. “You had kind of a rough winter—you deserve to be doted on. As Dum-Dum tells it, a Turning isn't the easiest thing in the world to go through, so I wanted to make sure you feel safe and comfortable.”

_Which explains all the sex_, Steve thought with a rueful smile as he snuggled up next to Bucky, and abandoned the remnants of his cigarette while he said, “I _always _feel safe with you, Buck.”

Steve had said it casually, like he was making some sort of remark about the weather, which had been really nice that day, like Spring was determined to come early. Bucky didn't seem to take it casually however, as he _beamed _at Steve like he'd given him the moon.

“I'm glad you feel safe with me,” Bucky said at last, “I don't want to hurt you, not ever.”

“You could never hurt me,” Steve insisted as he inched closer to Bucky, so that he was more or less draped across his chest, and Bucky let out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed with a long, drawn-out sigh. “You're too adorable to hurt.”

Steve snorted, but he didn't exactly protest, either.

~*~

The following morning, Steve woke alone. Outside it was snowing again, which immediately soured his mood—so much for an early spring.

The bed was cold to the touch when Steve reached out to pat Bucky's side, telling him that Bucky had been absent for a while. Beyond the room, he could hear the others talking loudly, but not quite shouting, and moving around like there was a lot going on.

Curious and a bit hungry, Steve rolled out of bed and shuffled to the closet to find something to wear. He felt a bit scummy and would have loved a nice warm bath, but he didn't relish the thought of getting _out _of the bath and being freezing cold until his hair decided to dry.

Instead, Steve opted for a quick face-wash after he'd thrown on some clothes, and headed out into the main area of the cabin to see what the hell was going on.

As Steve was quick to discover, the main area was in a state of _controlled _chaos.

There was a big steaming pot on the stove, and abandoned half-eaten bowls of oatmeal and plates of steak with one full serving left out for Steve. The others were amassing piles of blankets and furs in front of the fire, almost like something out of _The Princess and the Pea _fairy tale.

In truth, Steve didn't want to ask. Especially about the numerous bottles of herbal medicine they were arranging on the table, and bickering about which tincture was most important for Steve's bite.

Just _what _had he gotten himself into?

With his heart racing a little faster than normal Steve hurried over to the kitchen table, making it two-thirds of the way there before anyone even noticed he was awake.

“Hey, there's the special boy!” Morita called exuberantly as he lifted his arms above his head in a two-handed wave like Steve was across a field and not merely ten feet from him.

“Man,” Bucky corrected with a grin, and Steve felt his face go red as the others began to snicker.

“There's the special _man!_” Morita reiterated, and the others burst out laughing while Steve rolled his eyes and plopped down at the table to eat.

“You guys are _nuts_,” Steve complained as he picked up his coffee and took a long, fortifying sip. Given that it was actually palatable, he had to guess that Jim had made it, which was a small mercy. He reached for the jam on the table, blueberry today, and dumped a big spoonful onto his oatmeal. “What're you doin', anyway?”

“Getting stuff ready for you, obviously,” Dum-Dum boomed as he dropped an armful of pillows onto the bed. “Turning's never easy, and the more comfortable you are, the less stressful it'll be.”

“Sounds more like I'm giving birth than getting turned,” Steve muttered to himself, though apparently too loudly, as the others immediately began to laugh.

“It's definitely a birth in its own way,” Dum-Dum said over the other giggling werewolves. “Hurts like hell either way.”

“You're a real comfort, Dum-Dum,” Steve retorted dryly, and the big guy offered him a cheeky grin.

Steve ate his meal while the others continued to fuss and fret over the bed and the mason jars of medicine—some were teas, others were poultice mixes or thick salves. Bucky kept looking over at Steve with a mix of concern and excitement in his eyes, which Steve could guess was from this _pain_ he was supposed to go through. Bucky was so protective that it made sense that he wouldn't want Steve to suffer.

Steve did want to ask Bucky about it, or maybe reassure him, he wasn't sure which, but there didn't seem to be an opportunity to, as Bucky was too busy running around and trying to prepare things for Steve's turning.

As Steve finished eating, he moved to take care of the dishes, which immediately caused Gabe to yelp and race over, forcibly removing the stack of bowls from Steve's hands as he said, “not on your life, Rogers. Today you get to _relax_.”

“But—”

“—_no_,” Gabe repeated, more forcefully this time. “_Relax._”

“Seriously,” Steve insisted, “I can h—”

“_Sit down, Steven!_” Bucky called, half in command and half teasingly, which made the others begin to laugh again.

With a huff, Steve sat down, and the others began to openly cheer.

~*~

It was a weird day for Steve, mostly due to the fact that it seemed like such a short thing, to make a bed and then stockpile medicine (which wasn't the most reassuring thing for Steve, to be honest) there always seemed to be something else to do, from boiling down sticks that Jim had foraged (he'd explained what it was to Steve three times, but with his mounting nervousness, none of the information really got absorbed) to sorting through Steve's clothing selection, and debating whether any of it would fit after the change completed.

“Am I gonna really change that much?” Steve asked curiously as Dum-Dum meandered into the kitchen to check on lunch, which Steve thankfully managed to make without anyone yelling at him to _relax._ The werewolf peeked into the pot and chuckled at the simple Irish stew, then shrugged his shoulders at Steve's question.

“It's different for everyone,” he replied. His easy smile gave Steve the impression that he didn't actually mind that Steve was asking him the same thing for what was likely the hundredth time, which was something of a relief. “Some people don't change at all, some people gain a lot of muscle and height.”

“And the bite...will it be bad?” Steve asked as he stirred the bubbling pot, and sprinkled in a little dried sage. “I mean...after Bucky told me everything, I thought those scars on his arm were from his bite, but then he told me he was born as a werewolf...”

“That was from his fight with Alpha,” Dum-Dum said, dropping his voice so that the others wouldn't overhear. “Damn miracle it didn't get torn off, if you ask me. It's been that weird mottled white ever since the fight. The turning bite itself, it doesn't _have_ to hurt.”

Dum-Dum paused, and grinned as he held up his right hand. On his pointer finger was a tiny set of scarred teeth marks, more like needle pinpricks than what Steve had been envisioning for his own werewolf bite.

“That's...um...not so bad,” Steve said with a weak laugh, and Dum-Dum grinned at him.

“Like a penicillin shot,” Dum-Dum said, and Steve laughed. “Sure as hell helps with the pain afterwards. Healing from crazy muscle pain _and _a huge gory wound might've been more than I can take.”

“The muscle pain's no joke, then?” Steve asked as he dipped a spoon into the stew and tasted it, then, promptly added more salt. “Is it like...growing pains?”

“Sort of,” Dum-Dum replied as he shrugged his shoulders. “Just...worse. Bucky'll help you through it though. Actually, I'd be surprised if he left your side for more than ten seconds after he gives you the bite.”

Dum-Dum laughed to himself, and Steve rolled his eyes. Of course, he didn't expect his overprotective werewolf to go very far while all this was going on, but it was more than a little embarrassing how everyone seemed to know exactly how impossible Bucky was going to be.

As though on cue, Bucky stepped over to them, and wrapped his arms around Steve from behind.

“You smell good,” Bucky murmured into his ear, before he growled, the threatening sound clearly meant for Dum-Dum, who lifted his hands in a motion of mock surrender, and walked away without protest.

“It's not me, it's my wonderful stew,” Steve teased, and Bucky huffed a soft laugh.

“That smells good too,” Bucky agreed as he planted a soft kiss on the side of Steve's neck, making him shiver. “But you still smell better.”

“Flatterer,” Steve joked, and he felt Bucky smile against his skin. “You guys all ready for this thing?”

“Still some stuff to do, but I think we'll be ready by moonrise,” Bucky replied as he let go of Steve, his actions slow and reluctant, but when he straightened up Steve heard his back crack. “I need to change to bite you, and it's always easier on me if the moon is up, even if it's not full.”

“Does it hurt that much to change?” Steve asked curiously as he turned to look at Bucky, and he shrugged a little.

“I'm not the person to ask,” he replied simply. “I was born a wolf, remember? It's better to ask Dum-Dum that stuff.”

“I have, and he's told me that it hurts like a sonovabitch,” Steve retorted, his word-choice causing Bucky to snort. “I know he's not lying, but I was just hoping for a little more reassurance, that's all.”

“Well, I'll be there with you through the _whole _thing,” Bucky said as he moved in to peck Steve's lips with a soft kiss. “I won't leave you, not for a second, and we're gonna be doing everything we can to make the pain less without messing up the transformation.”

“Is that possible?” Steve asked as he reluctantly turned from Bucky in order to give the stew a stir. “Messing it up, I mean?”

“Some of the stronger salves can screw with it when you're in the middle of the change,” Bucky said as he backed off a little in order to let Steve work, though he was still hovering close by like a mother hen. “I don't actually know what they do, that was healer territory, so Jim might know a bit about it—”

“—I might know a bit about what?” Jim interjected as he sauntered into the kitchen, and took a deep sniff of the air, before he sighed happily. “_Proper. _I wouldn't tell this to Gabe, but something from the Motherland makes a nice change.”

“You are _not _Irish,” Steve challenged with a derisive snort, and Jim grinned at him.

“Well, if I hadn't a guess of your background before, I certainly do _now_,” Jim teased right back, and the pair laughed. “And what do I know about, then?”

“The salves we can't use on Steve during his change,” Bucky explained. “I don't actually know why we can't use them.”

“They don't play well with the werewolf venom before it's settled,” Jim rattled off at once, and Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd never heard of _werewolf venom _before. “It's fine to use after the change, but during it's not advised, as it can hamper the regenerative properties that are going from the werewolf venom to your muscles, and can cause long-term damage, such as muscle fatigue and that sort of thing, so we're avoiding the stronger stuff until the change is complete.”

“Great,” Steve said sarcastically, which caused Jim to chuckle, and Bucky to smile weakly, almost apologetically for being unable to offer Steve something that might truly dull the pain. “This is nearly ready, can you guys step back from your stuff to eat?”

“I think we can do that, Steve,” Jim said kindly, then turned and headed back into the living room in order to call attention to the other Howlies.

~*~

The Howlies and Bucky eventually gave up on telling Steve to _sit still and relax_ for his last day as a human, and just let him get on with doing whatever chores he could get away with without them freaking out over his health. That wasn't to say they didn't hover and make sure that Steve was all right, especially Bucky, but Steve had gotten pretty good at ignoring them, which Bucky didn't seem to take very well, as though Steve not paying attention to him was somehow a real trial for him to endure.

Far from feel sorry for Bucky, the Howlies gleefully teased him, and Steve had to stop whatever he was doing to have a good laugh at his lover's expense, especially when it was clear that Bucky wasn't actually all that offended by their enthusiastic teasing, and he grinned at them shamelessly.

Perhaps not the hardest part, but the most inconveniencing part was when Jim advised Steve not to eat dinner, as the change would be easier on an empty stomach. Dum-Dum agreed, citing his own change when he apparently threw up all over himself.

Though Steve was hungry, he joked that it was a blessed reprieve for his tastebuds, especially when Gabe was cooking with enough cajun spice to peel paint, maybe in revenge for Steve's mellow lunch offering.

In the late evening, long after they had eaten, Bucky touched Steve's shoulder and asked, “you ready, baby?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. It was true that he still wanted it, but he was still nervous about the supposed excruciating pain that he was going to go through.

Bucky led Steve from the kitchen table where they'd been playing cards to the living room, where the big squishy bed had been set up. The others hung back, almost like this was a private moment, which Steve immediately understood when Bucky said, “take off your shirt and pants.”

“Um, why?” Steve asked with a slightly nervous laugh, and Bucky smiled as he leant in to peck his lips.

“Nothing bad, baby, I promise,” Bucky replied almost teasingly, which caused Steve to blush. “But you're gonna grow from the bite, everybody does, but we have no idea by how much. You might rip your clothes if you get bigger than we expect.”

“Is that likely?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a warm chuckle. “Dum-Dum got real big. If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can have you lose just the shirt and belt.”

“That sounds a bit better,” Steve admitted with a weak laugh, and proceeded to strip off the designated clothes, which he handed to Bucky before he eased down on the bed with a long sigh.

Bucky set aside Steve's clothing, then knelt next to the bed and offered Steve a kiss. It was a long, unhindered kiss that made arousal pool in Steve's belly next to his nervousness. Bucky pulled back before it got too far, and began to strip out of his own clothes.

Steve grinned as he watched Bucky disrobe, the werewolf merely chuckling at Steve's unabashed ogling of him, though Steve's expression rapidly shifted to a grimace when Bucky began to change.

Bucky fell onto all fours as he bared his teeth in obvious pain. His long hair seeming to retract into his skull while his bones snapped and reset, his knees inverted, his face stretched forwards into a wolfish muzzle, and black fur began to sprout all over his body.

The Howlies didn't respond to Bucky's change, beyond getting up and approaching the pair, though they stopped a few feet back, like they were trying to give them some space. Wolf-Bucky shook himself, setting loose a cloud of black and white hairs that tickled Steve's nose. Then, the huge animal stepped forward and licked Steve's cheek, perhaps in some kind of reassurance that Bucky was still _Bucky._

“I'm ready,” Steve said without hesitation, first to Bucky, then to the others. “I'm nervous, but I trust all of you to get me through this.”

Bucky nodded his head once, he gazing intensely at Steve through his wolf eyes, though despite Steve's verbal reassurance, Bucky didn't move, almost like he was waiting for some further reassurance that Steve was _truly _ready for this to happen.

In response, Steve lifted a trembling hand and extended it to Bucky.

Bucky licked his palm a few times, making the skin tickle, and Steve smiled as he felt some of his nervousness begin to recede. He offered Bucky a smile, and in his peripheral vision, he saw Jim gather up a strip of cloth bandage that seemed to have been dampened by some sort of medicine.

After looking up at Steve one last time, clearly seeking permission for Bucky to continue, the wolf opened his mouth and sank his teeth into Steve's hand.

Steve grimaced as he felt the skin tear. It stung and burned, but it wasn't as bad as he was expecting. True to what Dum-Dum had promised, it didn't feel much worse than a regular dog bite, though privately he wished that Bucky would have thought to do a teensy weensy bite, like what Dum-Dum had.

He looked up to the Howlies, mouth open, while Jim approached with the bandage, and after bucky licked the wound a few times, he allowed the supposed healer of the group patch Steve's hand up.

Steve turned to Bucky, intending to reassure him that the bite hadn't been that bad, and he felt perfectly fine—better even; aside from his hand, he wasn't in any pain at _all._

Unfortunately, he wasn't given the chance to when he abruptly collapsed onto the bed, and immediately and his world exploded into blinding, excruciating pain as Steve began to scream.


	13. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for September 13th. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen – Changes

Steve could hear voices around him. They sounded panicked—or, at least, one of them did. The others were firm and even, and one was commanding, but through the haze of agony, Steve couldn't work out which was which, the pain was just too great.

Steve let out another shouting cry. His face was wet with sweat and tears. It felt like his skin was being torn apart and nailed back on inside out, then salt rubbed into all the wounds. It hurt to move, and his whole body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He couldn't see, and even when he squinted, he couldn't see anything—he'd been struck blind.

What had Bucky _done _to him?

Steve let out a frightened howl, something that he probably shouldn't have been able to vocalise. It wasn't even remotely human in sound—it was completely and entirely _wolf_.

“Steve, it's okay,” Steve heard his mate say, followed by the low thrum of a growl. It wasn't threatening, however—the sound was clearly meant to calm him. “This isn't forever, it's going to pass, I promise.”

Steve whined again as he reached out blindly, his arms trembling with the pain. A warm, familiar hand closed over his, their fingers twining together. Even as the continuous pain made him shudder, the presence of his mate made things easier.

~*~

Bucky's promise was the only thing that kept Steve going as he stared up through sightless eyes. He lay in a pool of sweat, perspiring off all the lotions that were massaged into his skin. Herbal medicines were trickled down his throat, thick like oil and bitter in taste, clinging like a film to the inside of his mouth and making him sputter.

They didn't exactly alleviate much of the pain, but they did make him sleep through most of it. Every time he woke, he moaned in pain, feeling too heavy to thrash around like a wanted to. His mate fed him thin meat broths in small increments, but Steve coughed most of it up as his stomach seized from being filled during the change. Steve could hear yelling around him at those times, but he couldn't make out any of the words, and began to wonder if this new hell would _ever _end.

One day, some time later, though he had no idea how long exactly, Steve opened his eyes. The difference this time was that he was no longer witness to an endless black, but he could _see _again.

More than that, his vision had sharpened. He could count the tree rings in the roof's planks, from the very centre to the very largest. He could smell oatmeal and sugary fruit, overlaid with a scent of cooking meat and spices. Steve could tell with perfect accuracy what the pack had eaten for breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner.

Next to him, Steve smelled the scent of a wolf. He turned his head slowly, and he saw his mate curled up next to him. There were dark circles ringing his eyes, his hair was greasy and clinging to his cheeks, which made it look like he hadn't slept or bathed in several days.

Steve shifted his gaze, at last, down to himself.

_Oh._

Steve's brain seemed to go blank with shock at what he was seeing. His pants, which before had been _baggy _were now distinctly fitted, even with the catch stretched wide open. The hems barely came to the tops of his calves, and no longer were his limbs the bony things he remembered—now, his legs seemed to be _made _of muscle.

His gaze travelled higher. There was a pretty distinctive bulge in his pants that he _knew _hadn't been that big before, but when he tried to lift an arm to check it out, he grimaced in pain as his muscles thoroughly protested the act.

_Maybe later..._ Steve mused as he continued to take in the sight of his new body, his gaze travelling higher. Luckily his shirt was still off, which gave him a complete and unhindered view of his own chest.

His waist was trim, about as thick as his shoulders used to be, and pebbled with powerful abdominal muscles. He broadened in a V-shape as his gaze travelled up to his broad chest, of a kind that he'd only ever _dreamed _of. When he looked at his arms, he discovered that they were so thick that he could probably fell a whole oak tree without breaking a sweat.

“Holy hell...” Steve whispered as he stared down at himself, the soft vocalization causing his mate to stir.

“Steve?” Bucky croaked as he straightened up and rubbed his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“...Taller.”

Bucky snorted loudly, and Steve managed to crack a grin. Despite just waking up, he was still _exhausted_, and couldn't manage much more than that. Thankfully, Bucky seemed to understand, and ran a hand gently across Steve's right bicep almost reverently, a look of relief clouding his features that made Steve wonder just how bad it must have looked from the outside.

“How long was I out?” Steve asked as Bucky reached for one of the mason jars on the coffee table, and when he unscrewed the top a pungent cedarwood scent filled the space between them.

“Six, almost seven days,” Bucky replied, a distinct roughness in his voice as he began to massage the salve into Steve's upper arm. “I was getting really worried, and the pack was getting really annoyed with me. They went on a hunt and haven't come back yet.”

“Is that a long time?” Steve joked, and Bucky cracked a wry smile. “That feels real nice, Bucky.”

“Good,” Bucky replied as he worked his way down Steve's newly muscular arm, which admittedly Steve couldn't stop staring at. “You scared me half to death, you know.”

“Only half? I must be losing my touch.” Steve grinned when Bucky glared at him, though the small smile upon the other werewolf's face told Steve that he wasn't actually mad.

“Did it hurt?” Bucky asked, his voice losing its teasing tone, and became more concerned.

“A little,” Steve replied as he shrugged his shoulders, which he immediately regretted when pain lanced through his shoulders and neck. “It's over now, Buck.”

“Not really _over_,” Bucky retorted as he circled Steve and began to work on his other arm, suffusing Steve completely in the cedar scent. “You're gonna sit your gorgeous ass down and let your body recover from the change. Dum-Dum thinks it'll be another week before the muscle pain goes away completely.”

“A _week?_” Steve demanded, and Bucky nodded. “But...what if I need to pee?”

“We got bedpans, you boob,” Bucky retorted with a smirk, as though he was somehow pleased that he was forcing Steve to sit still for a week. “And I mean it—_no getting up_. I know you hate sitting around doing nothing, but you'll do more harm than good by getting up before you're healed. You'll hurt yourself, and then have to stay in bed _longer.”_

The threat of making him sit still longer effectively shut Steve up, and Bucky grinned in triumph.

Steve let out a long sigh, and let Bucky massage him down without protest. Admittedly, even if he _wanted _to get up and test his new body out, he was too sore to really move all that much. Whatever was in the salve was definitely helping at least, and he no longer felt sore all over—provided he stayed still.

As he laid there however, something occurred to him.

Something that he should have noticed before.

“You called the Howlies...the pack,” Steve ventured as Bucky moved to rubbing the salve gently onto Steve's chest. “Why?”

“Oh, that's kind of a long story,” Bucky replied with something of a wolfish grin, which caused Steve to chuckle.

“I'm not goin' anywhere, Buck,” Steve pointed out dryly, and Bucky laughed with a sweet smile that made Steve feel tingly all over.

“Well...remember when Peggy came to the house to yell at the Howlies, back when I was off getting your medicine?” Bucky ventured, and Steve nodded. “Well...turns out that they weren't here so long with Alpha's permission. Peggy tried to cover for them, but Alpha figured everything out real quick, and he tracked them here to drag them back to the pack during your change. They refused to go.”

“Refused?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded.

“Apparently I'm their _real family_ or some sappy crap like that,” Bucky filled in as his hands smoothed their way down Steve's chest, his thumbs tickling their way over Steve's nipples, and making him gasp.

“Don't do that, I'm too sore for teasing,” Steve protested, which caused both men to whine. Steve was _dying_ to test-drive his new werewolf body, but given that he felt like he'd gone twelve rounds with King Kong, he _definitely _wasn't up for anything.

“Sorry,” Bucky replied, though he didn't sound very sorry at all. “You're just so hard to resist...”

“Which d'you like better,” Steve teased, “Scrawny Steve or Beefy Steve?”

“I like Steve-Steve,” Bucky said, his voice dropping the teasing tone as he gazed down at Steve, his hands freezing against Steve's chest. Steve blinked at the manner of the question, but Bucky's serious look didn't change. “No, I mean it. I like you no matter how you are. Tall, short, skinny, fat, weak or strong. You're _still_ Steve.”

~*~

“Well, lookie who's finally awake!”

Bucky pulled back from Steve, grinning wickedly, while Steve let out a groan at the interruption. It was the middle of his second day as a werewolf, and he was still mightily sore, but at least he could move his limbs on his own again—more or less. Dum-Dum tramped in door with a buck over his shoulder, the antlers clacking against the door frame as he went. Behind him was the rest of their so-called _pack_, each of them carrying in their own armful of animal carcass—rabbits, mostly—save for Morita and Gabe, who were giddily carrying in a fully grown _bear_.

“What the—” Steve began, but his question was cut off when Bucky let out a cheer.

“Surprise!” Morita crowed with a grin. “_Bear _meat!”

Bucky began to clap like he was at a play, cackling gleefully as the pair watched their pack tote all the meat into the kitchen, though, thankfully, they seemed to know better than to drop the dead weight of the bear onto the table. Admittedly, it made Steve a little sad to see the dead animal, but he knew these men well enough to trust that they'd use every part, and nothing would be wasted—they'd treat the bear as respectfully in death as they did in life.

_Except for the killing it part, I guess,_ Steve mused as he watched the pack begin to sort out their supplies while Dum-Dum stepped away from the group and moved towards Steve while he let out a long, low whistle.

“_Damn, _Rogers, you got _big_,” he remarked with a hearty laugh, and Steve grinned up at him. “How's it feel?”

“Dunno,” Steve replied honestly. “Bucky hasn't let me get out of bed, not even to pee.”

“_Bedpans_,” Bucky reiterated with an annoyed groan, even as the others started to laugh.

“Yeah, I remember that when I was turned; took me a week to get out of bed, I was so sore,” Dum-Dum said as he dropped down on the floor near to Steve, but notably, not _too _close. Even so, Steve couldn't help but smirk at the way Bucky was glaring at him, like he was still ninety pounds soaking wet and he needed Bucky to defend his honour.

Dum-Dum continued to regale Steve with stories of his own turning, while the others began to work on butchering the animals and skinning them. They seemed to be doing it all one by one as a team, first the skin coming off and being laid out on a stretching board, then the carcass was gutted, the inedible bits being thrown into a stained metal bucket, and the rest going onto the table in slabs or piles, where Gabe carefully sliced everything, and it was prepared for drying.

Steve could still remember with absolute clarity the sickening, coppery stench of all the blood, and how it had made him gag every time Bucky chose to butcher an animal indoors. The scent always seemed to almost cling to the inside of Steve's mouth like an unpleasant film, and he'd have to leave the house just to get away from it.

This time it smelled the same, but oddly _different._ His sense of smell was definitely stronger, which, logically, should have made the smell even more unbearable.

Instead, the blood smell seemed to tell Steve's instincts that food was nearby, like when he'd smell a bakery before he saw it.

His stomach let out an embarrassingly loud gurgle, and both Bucky and Dum-Dum grinned at him in both pleasure and amusement.

“You gotta take it slow,” Bucky said sternly, “So no rare meat for you for a few days—”

“_Steve eats meat that tastes like shoe leather!_” Gabe called out with a laugh. “I don't think we need to worry about him complaining about _that_.”

The entire cabin burst into laughter, and Steve grinned up at his friends—_his pack_.

He'd never felt so at home with people in his entire life, and he hoped that this would never end.

~*~

It took most of the day for the pack to butcher the animals they'd brought back, and Gabe whipped up a mild stew made out of the bear meat and some potatoes, paired with Steve's world-famous sourdough bread.

It was stifling in the cabin, in part due to the fact that the pack was using every single heat source in order to dry out thin slices of meat, the edible organs put outside on the meat pole, given that it was still cold enough out there to keep, and the stovetop burners were all turned on and topped with the biggest pots that the cabin held, each one bearing hunks of bear meat, rendering it for its fat for a multitude of purposes.

“I bet I could make tallow candles with all that fat,” Steve remarked as he watched Jim take a turn at the stove, and Bucky grinned, shaking his head as though Steve's candle-making plans were somehow amusing to him.

“You're still such a mother, even though you look like an alpha,” Bucky teased as he ran a hand over Steve's bare arm.

“Is it so unmasculine to want to have a light source?” Steve retorted as he arched a brow at Bucky, who blushed with embarrassment, and seemed to note how Steve ignored his latter remark.

“Sorry,” Bucky replied, “I didn't mean it like that—it doesn't make you weak, I just mean that you're so...caring. You always put other people before you. You're already thinking of all the things to make that will help all of us, not just you.”

“I guess it's how I grew up,” Steve said as he shrugged, and noted how it didn't hurt nearly as much as when he'd first woken up. Even so, he knew better than to ask Bucky if he could leave the bed—the man definitely wouldn't let _that _happen any time soon. “Taking care of people is how I operate.”

“I know,” Bucky said with a warm laugh as he laid down next to Steve on the bed, and draped an arm across his waist. “You're real good at taking care of us, like a real Alpha Mate.”

“Alpha Mate?” Steve asked, his lips quirking into a grin as he turned a little to gaze at Bucky, “is that what I am?”

“If you want to be,” Bucky replied with a slight grin. “Rule the pack at my side, like an alpha pair, take in lone wolves as we find them, keep these idiots out of trouble—”

“—_Oi!_” shouted Jim from the kitchen, and both Steve and Bucky dissolved into peals of laughter.


	14. Puppy Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for September 27th. Enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen – Puppy Love

It had been a long, painful week for Steve.

Although, more embarrassing than painful, especially when Bucky actually made him use the damn bedpans. 

At the very least, Bucky shooed the pack away whenever Steve needed to do his business, and after a while Steve found he didn't mind it so much, as it gave him ample opportunity to ogle his new—much larger—cock. 

“I can't wait to use it with you,” Steve would whisper when they were alone together, in a vain hope of coming off as sexy, but the reedy quality of his voice didn't do him any favours, and Bucky giggled a little before he moved in to press a kiss to Steve's cheek.

“As soon as you're back to your old self, sweetheart.”

“I hope not,” Steve quipped. “I like the idea of being able to lift more than five pounds without winding myself.”

Bucky snorted, and as with every time, he would shut Steve up with a kiss. 

Of course, with such a small cabin shared between seven men, there wasn't much in the way of privacy and those moments together were far too fleeting for Steve's liking. Bucky refused to leave Steve's side while he was laid up, and if Steve was ever particularly sore on any given day, Bucky would get particularly territorial, and wouldn't let any of the pack near them. 

Steve thought it was weird, and embarrassing, but the pack hardly reacted to these testosterone-fuelled displays. They just shrugged and headed outside to relax, goof off, or work. With the onset of spring, it was less uncomfortable to stay outside for long periods. Only Dum-Dum seemed to have trouble with Bucky's commands, wavering when he made them all give Steve a little breathing room, and trying to suggest that Bucky might need some help tending to Steve, or even a break of some kind. 

None too surprisingly, these gentle suggestions didn't go over well with Bucky, and Dum-Dum would rush out after the rest of the pack before Bucky could really do anything about it.

As the week of bed rest wound down, every day Steve found it a little easier to move around without pain. On the fifth day, Bucky even let him get up and pee on his own, though his supposed mate laughed unsympathetically when Steve went for the bathroom, and promptly whacked his head on the very top of the door frame. 

Clearly, this _tall_ thing was going to take some getting used to.

By the seventh day, Steve was by and large back to normal. He was still a little sore, and parts of his arms and legs still felt like he was getting over some very bad bruises, but overall he was functional again.

Unfortunately, Steve didn't really know what that meant in terms of his position within the pack. After spending months doing the less physically taxing jobs, he now had a body that could probably manage them—whenever Bucky stopped being a mother hen and let him try, anyway. Did he have a specific job? What could he do? In spite of his new body, he didn't have a clue how to hunt, or fish, or chop down trees. 

“Technically, you're the alpha mate alongside me,” Bucky filled in when Steve relayed all his worries to him. “It means that you don't really have a job if you don't want one. We can just fuck like bunnies and that can be your job.” He paused, and smirked when Steve scowled at him. “But I know you, and I know you don't exactly enjoy being waited on hand and foot. So...we'll just teach you a bit of everything, and you can decide in what ways you want to help. How does that sound?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed with a small, relieved smile. “That sounds good.”

~*~

Steve's first body test was due to start the afternoon of his eighth day as a werewolf. He was so excited that he woke up at the crack of dawn, borrowed Bucky's winter clothes, and headed outside to breathe in the crisp spring air. 

The combination of outdoor smells was almost overwhelming to his new werewolf senses however, and he staggered to a stop just outside the door. Unlike inside the cabin where scents seemed to be neatly layered like ingredients in a sandwich, outside it was more like he was hit in the face with them all at once. He could smell the snow that still clung to the ground, the frost in the air, and a sharp scent he couldn't quite identify, but somehow he knew that it meant rain was coming. Over top of it all, Steve could smell the leavings of squirrels and deer, the charcoal smell of extinguished fires, and the odour of fresh cut wood. 

It was overwhelming. 

No wonder Bucky kept me inside for so damn long, Steve mused as he shed the coat, realising that he really didn't need it. He stood outside in the boots and his shirtsleeves, and he was amazed at how a day that should have left him shivering felt only comfortably crisp to him now. 

As he stood there, he really hoped that it wouldn't feel like this in high summer; those few months were gonna be downright miserable if that turned out to be the case.

Steve walked around the edges of the property, his senses slowly calming down as he got used to all the smells. He'd wanted to go running, just to see how far he could get before he got tired, but in hindsight that probably wasn't the best idea. What if he got lost? That probably wouldn't be good on his first real day as part of the team.

Or, pack, I guess, Steve thought, and nearly laughed out loud to himself. 

After a few hours of just wandering around outside and enjoying the way the air didn't sting his lungs, he began to lift random items experimentally just to see how much he could lift, surprising himself when he discovered that he could carry as much firewood as Bucky. Pleased with this development and feeling much more confident than before, Steve headed back inside to prepare breakfast for everyone. 

In an odd sort of way, it was nice to do something so simple. It made Steve feel like nothing had changed, and he was still the same man as before. Over sizzling pots and pans of eggs, deer meat, and oatmeal, he smiled as he watched the big pile of werewolves in the living room snooze on, utterly dead to the world. Last night, Steve and Bucky had moved back into their bedroom, but it had quickly become clear that the little double bed was definitely too small for a pair of men over six foot each, and they made something of a nest on the floor until they could come up with some kind of solution, while the others had taken up residence in the living room again. 

Of course, Bucky's solution to their latest problem had been to steal a bed from the nearest town, but Steve didn't think Bucky understood how annoying it was to just move a mattress up a set of stairs, much less steal a bed and bed frame and sheets from a store and get away clean. They'd probably end up shot.

On top of that, Steve's suggestion of making one themselves was immediately shot down, though no one had really given him a clear reason why. The closest thing Steve had gotten to a real explanation was Morita grumbling something about spending too many damn years sleeping on straw-filled mattresses. 

Steve was pulled from his thoughts when the puppy pile of grown men began to stir, most likely roused by the smell of food, and one by one they got up and meandered over to the table, though their faces scrunched up at the sight of the oatmeal on the stove. 

Steve happily ignored their sourpuss expressions, and spooned out a bowl for each of them, which they drowned in fruit preserves (blueberry today) before they each piled their plates high with eggs and meat, though none of them touched their food beyond that, which caused Steve to regard them oddly. Since when did they not tear into their food like a pack of...well, wolves?

“We gotta wait for Bucky,” Morita croaked out in a groggy, half-asleep tone.

“Indeed,” Jim added as he gazed longingly at his steaming mug of coffee. “As he is now our official alpha, he must begin to eat first before we are permitted to.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Bucky shuffled out of the bedroom looking a little sour and still dead on his feet. 

Without speaking to anyone, Bucky immediately made a beeline for Steve, coiling his arms around Steve's waist while he muttered, “woke up without you...didn't like it.”

“We all got crosses to bear, Buck,” Steve shot back teasingly, and Bucky scowled, like he didn't enjoy jokes so early in the morning. Before Bucky could come up with a retort, Steve swept in to offer him a kiss—a mistake, when Steve caught whiff of his truly horrifying morning breath—and murmured, “please sit down and eat before our pack starves to death.”

Bucky obeyed without much protest, though he made the same face as his packmates when he noted the bowl of oatmeal at his place setting. Wisely, he didn't complain, but he did pile it high with the blueberry preserves just like the others had. 

Steve just barely managed to swallow a laugh as he served himself up, using the last dregs of the preserves on his own breakfast, though nowhere near as much as the others. 

As soon as Bucky started on his eggs, the rest of the pack dug into their own meals with enthusiasm. Jim sipped his coffee daintily, Dum-Dum was eating the meat with his fingers, Gabe was smearing ketchup all over his eggs, Jacques was combining the blueberry preserves with the fried meat for some ungodly reason, and Morita was stabbing at the meat and egg alternately, creating something like a meat-and-egg sandwich on his fork, albeit without the bread. 

It was kind of a mess, and Steve privately hoped that someone else would volunteer to clean up. He hadn't much minded when it had been just him and Bucky, but cleaning up after seven big men was a much bigger job. 

“So,” Bucky said as he polished off the last of his meat, and began to push aside his untouched oatmeal. When Steve glared at him from across the table, Bucky heaved an annoyed sigh, and dragged it back over. “Today we're gonna give Steve a test-run, see how he does with the more manual labour stuff. Looks like he doesn't want to be one of those doted on sort of Alpha Mates.”

The group snickered into their plates, even as Steve blushed ruby red. No one apologised, and Steve stuffed a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth to curb his impulse to say something about it. 

“I can teach him how to chop trees,” Dum-Dum offered at once. For some strange reason, this caused Bucky to frown, though he didn't protest as he looked around the table for more volunteers.

“Who wants the hunting and tracking job?” Bucky asked, and when no one immediately spoke up, Bucky rolled his eyes, and Steve blushed as he recalled Bucky's comments to him that he was too noisy for hunting. “Come on, he's gotta learn some time,”

“Am I that bad at the whole tracking thing?” Steve asked with a nervous laugh, and the remainder of the pack looked appropriately embarrassed at their lack of enthusiasm, though that didn't make them jump up to help any quicker. 

“I can show him tracking,” Morita said after a pause. “Alpha, you could teach him hunting, couldn't you? You're the best hunter here.”

“I asked for someone else to show him,” Bucky protested as his face turned a blotchy red, and Steve honestly had no clue if he should be offended or not. Bucky had told him a thousand times that he was too loud, but shouldn't that be better, now that he was changed?

Or maybe I'm worse, Steve mused as he took another bite of his oatmeal. I must be heavier now, so maybe that means I'll be louder...

“I can teach him foraging,” Jim offered when an awkward silence fell over the group. “After all, I'm the only one amongst us who can actually tell the difference between poison oak and pretty flowers.”

Jim shifted a pointed sort of look towards Bucky, who grumbled audibly, even as the others burst out laughing. 

~*~

“So, first thing you gotta do is find dead trees,” Dum-Dum instructed as they meandered through the woods together, each with an axe in hand. Dum-Dum seemed pretty giddy at the notion of teaching Steve how to chop trees, while the others seemed relieved to have a reason to get out of greenhorn training that day. 

Oddly, Steve found that the axe he carried felt curiously light, and when Steve had asked about that, Dum-Dum just laughed and reminded Steve that he was a little bit stronger now. 

How could he have forgotten that?

Looking down at himself, it was amazing that he could forget all those big bulging muscles that he now had, but they were at least easier to remember than his new height. If he had a dollar for every time he whacked his head on the top of the door frames in the cottage, he'd be rich. 

“Dead trees?” Steve asked after a moment, only distantly recalling that Dum-Dum was supposed to be teaching him how to be of some use to the pack. 

“Yep,” he said, and smiled at Steve. “Dead trees will burn faster than living ones, and they're easier to cut down. If too much dead wood builds up in a forest it can be kind of dangerous anyway, so it's safer for the whole forest if we take away the dead ones.”

“Safer?” Steve asked, and blinked. “How?”

“If lightning hits a dead tree, what do you think happens?” Dum-Dum asked, his tone somewhere between sarcastic and teasing, and Steve's eyes widened in understanding. “Exactly. It's more of a problem for packs out west; most of them have to be nomadic, and they can't stay in one place forever. Here it's humid enough that it's not as dangerous, but...better safe than sorry.”

“Do you know a lot about other packs?” Steve asked curiously as he followed Dum-Dum through the woods. “I got the impression from Bucky that you guys were kind of...secluded.”

“Nice way to say cut off,” Dum-Dum joked, and Steve managed a small smile. “I had a sort of rebellious phase in my teens, and I hitched my way out west on the railroads. Met more smelly humans than I care to count that way, let me tell you. I met packs from Georgia, Louisiana, and then Colorado before I got homesick and came back. Took months, and it was miserable, and then Alpha—uh, Old Alpha gave me a hell of a beat-down for leaving in the first place.” 

Dum-Dum paused, and pointed to a tall tree with grey, mottled bark. Given how early in the season it was, it didn't stand out how a dead tree might in the middle of summer, when the lack of foliage would make it easier to spot. A few brown leaves higher up told Steve than it was an old oak tree, and the cracks in the trunk showed that it was very much dead. 

“Uh, so how do we chop it down so that neither of us get flattened?” Steve asked with a weak laugh, and Dum-Dum grinned at him. 

“First, we're gonna cut a wedge outta one side,” Dum-Dum explained before he lifted his axe, and began to hack at the trunk. Each swing ended with a loud, satisfying thump, and even with all of Dum-Dum's werewolf strength, it still took more than a few swings before he even began to split the wood. It was clearly much harder work than Steve had previously envisioned, and he watched quietly as over the course of what he estimated to be about ten minutes, Dum-Dum hacked away a chunk of the tree, though it stood firm, clearly not ready to fall down. 

“Okay,” Dum-Dum said as he panted, and paused for a moment to catch his breath and wipe his brow with the collar of his shirt. “Now—your turn.”

“My turn?” Steve asked, just barely managing to keep the alarm out of his voice. “I gotta cut a wedge too?”

Dum-Dum laughed, and for some odd reason, Steve didn't find it all that reassuring. 

“No, bud, you're gonna chop this sucker down,” Dum-Dum explained with something of a crazy grin on his face. “What you're gonna do is go on the opposite side from where I cut my wedge, and just start chopping. It's gonna take a while before it comes down, but just be patient. I'll be behind you, and we're deep enough that we shouldn't need to worry about hurting anyone, but just do the usual shout when it starts to come down.”

“Got it,” Steve said as he swung the axe back to rest it on his shoulder, nearly beheading Dum-Dum in the process, and he winced. “Shit, sorry.”

“It was my fault, Steve,” Dum-Dum replied with an easy smile. “Was definitely standing too close. Us Turnies gotta stick together, you know?”

“Turnies?” Steve demanded as he wrinkled his nose, taking position on the side of the tree opposite from Dum-Dum's wedge. His companion took several large steps back to stay out of the axe's striking range (or to avoid Steve's apparent clumsiness, he wasn't entirely sure) and stood like he was a baseball player at bat, which caused Dum-Dum to chuckle.

“Yeah, we gotta have a name for us, since I'm not the only turned wolf around anymore,” he joked while he stepped back over to Steve. “And you're gonna cut something off if you hold the axe over your shoulder like that. Here...”

Without warning, Dum-Dum stood at Steve's back, and placed his hands on Steve's hips. He froze, too startled to even move while Dum-Dum manually rearranged Steve's position, like he was some kind of marionette. 

“There,” Dum-Dum said with a smile and a wildly unnecessary pat to the back of Steve's thigh, and...was he only imagining Dum-Dum's hand staying there for a second longer than was necessary?

Steve shook his head, his brain clogged up with feelings of negation, of how not right it was to be touched by anyone but Bucky, but by the same token, he'd seen the same thing on the baseball diamond when his dad was working with a coach, or instructor. So maybe...it was normal? Or maybe werewolves were just naturally more touchy-feely?

Steve decided that that might be a worry for later as he took his first swing, and it landed into the oak tree's trunk with a satisfying thunk. 

A few pieces of the bark flew away the moment the axe hit the tree, one of which just barely missed him. He tugged back the axe, careful to maintain the position Dum-Dum had shown him so that the other wolf wouldn't need to touch him again, and he chopped again. This time, the swing clearly wasn't hard enough as the axe's blade bounced off the wood harmlessly. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Dum-Dum getting ready to step closer and correct Steve's swing, but hastily, Steve tried again before Dum-Dum could intervene, and hacked at the oak again, this time it sinking into the wood in a satisfying sort of way. In fact, Dum-Dum looked even a little impressed by Steve's swing. 

Quickly, Steve discovered that chopping a tree down, especially a big ole thing like the oak was not something he ever could have managed as a human. It was hard, slow work, and sweat seemed to be soaking him from head to toe as he chopped and chopped, while keeping a weather-eye on Dum-Dum, just to make sure he didn't try anything else. He didn't know what Dum-Dum's deal was, but the last thing he needed was for Bucky to jump to any sort of terrible conclusions when they got back to the cabin. 

Or, alternately, for Dum-Dum to think he had any sort of chance with him when he had his True Mate waiting for him at home.

Steve struck the trunk again, and let out a grunt of frustration. Was this thing ever going to come down?

After an entire hour of chopping, the tree gave a loud, ominous crack. Steve lifted his boot and pushed on the trunk, coaxing it in the direction they wanted it to go, and as it began to tip, Steve cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “TIMBERRR!”

Steve grinned proudly as he watched the huge tree crash to the ground, though a strangled yelp cut his pride short, and he began to rush forward, only to be stopped by Dum-Dum's hand on his arm. 

“Relax, buddy, that was just a deer,” Dum-Dum said as he rubbed Steve's forearm in a way he didn't think was really appropriate for friends. “Sounds like we may have an added bonus. Want to check it out?”

“Uh...oh, yeah, um, sure,” Steve stumbled over his words, and managed an awkward smile as he nodded, turned and headed over to the place where he heard the cry come from.

As he walked, Dum-Dum at his back, Steve prayed that the weirdness he felt was just him being paranoid, and nothing more. The last thing he wanted was to cause some sort of drama within the pack, or, worse, lose Dum-Dum as a friend. 

Trouble was, as they reached the deer (a big buck crushed under the tree, but otherwise in pretty good shape) Dum-Dum congratulated Steve jokingly on his first kill, the man rubbed his back, the action pointed, and much more tender than it should have been. 

Steve forced a smile as he helped Dum-Dum go up and down the trunk, chopping off the branches until they had one single log. They then rolled the tree off of the buck with a little effort, and hung the carcass over the top of it so that they wouldn't lose it. While Steve remarked on how weird it looked with a big dent in the middle, Dum-Dum made a joke about tenderized meat, though admittedly Steve wasn't listening all that closely. After everything that had happened that afternoon, he was pretty keen to get out of the woods, and back to Bucky. 

As they unpacked their two man saw in order to cut the giant log into more manageable pieces, Steve did not miss how Dum-Dum looked at him now. It was far less friendly than it should have been, and much closer to the look of a teenage boy with a crush—which, admittedly, looked really strange on the face of a fully grown man. 

As they sawed, which was much faster than the initial chopping had been, Steve prayed that Bucky would have some sort solution to this, preferably one that didn't involve bloodshed.

But considering how territorial Bucky was of his mate, Steve sincerely doubted Dum-Dum would get out of this with all of his limbs in tact.

Deciding that that was a problem for Future Steve, he redoubled his efforts on the sawing. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could separate himself from Dum-Dum and keep his distance until this had been firmly dealt with. 


	15. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for October 11th, aka Canadian Thanksgiving Weekend. As a result, while I'm hoping to get the update out on time if there's any sort of delay that would be why. Enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen – Confrontation

Steve made a point of offering to carry the deer carcass home before Dum-Dum had a chance to, and he said something about wanting to see Bucky. The mention of their leader made Dum-Dum frown a little, which Steve chose to ignore until he'd figured out precisely _why_ Dum-Dum had been acting so weird all damn day.

Steve's ulterior motive was to use the scent of the deer to mask Dum-Dum's wildly inappropriate touch. Yes, he wanted to talk to Bucky and _discuss _what had happened, but by the same token he didn't want Bucky to go into a wild rage and _murder _his friend.

Whatever was going on, Steve was _certain _it could be resolved without any bloodshed.

Steve headed for the cabin, surreptitiously rubbing the deer carcass against all the areas that Dum-Dum had touched in the hope that it would cover up the scent, and not clue the alpha into the fact that Dum-Dum hadn't been all that gentlemanly with him that morning.

When Steve made it back, he was startled to find an awful lot going on, with Bucky, Morita, and Gabe digging very close to the side of the little house, and Jim was using a tool that looked like an ice chipper to mark out big squares in the dirt and snow, while Jacques was poring over some papers that, at a distance, appeared to be hand-drawn.

“Uh, do I _want _to know what's going on?” Steve asked, and Gabe was the first to let out a shout and wave at Steve merrily from his hole in the ground, even as Bucky grinned, vaulted over the side of it, and hurried over to Steve.

“Hey,” Bucky purred as he sauntered over, smelling enticingly of freshly turned earth and his own natural scent. “What you got there?”

“Accidental casualty of learning to chop down trees,” Steve supplied with a grin. “Maybe you guys could butcher it for supper?” Steve paused, and smiled again. “After you're done with...whatever you're doing?”

“Oh, I think you're gonna like this little project,” Bucky said as he mirrored Steve's smile. “We're starting our summer project.”

“Digging to Canada?”

“No, you dummy,” Bucky retorted with a snort, “we're expanding the cabin. We're adding more rooms so that everyone has more space. Now that we can actually dig, it seemed like a good idea to get started.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Steve asked curiously as he followed Bucky closer to the cabin, and Bucky motioned for Steve to set down his buck on a pile of snow, which he supposed would serve adequately as an ice box until one of the others butchered it. Though he didn't want to admit it, Steve was still a little uneasy at the idea of cutting up and skinning an animal, something he expected he'd probably get over sooner, rather than later.

“Maybe two weeks,” Bucky said as he shrugged, and wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, drawing him closer with a sly smirk, making it pretty clear that Bucky was hardly thinking about house-building at the moment. “Morita suggested it once they all decided to stay for good. He was getting sick of sharing a bed with the rest of the pack. None of us have any idea how to safely build a second floor, so we thought adding more rooms to the main level would be a better idea.”

“Yeah, I don't love the idea of one of them falling through the ceiling,” Steve joked, which caused Bucky to chuckle. He opened his mouth, hoping to bring up the _Dum-Dum Issue_, when at the same moment Dum-Dum appeared at the edge of the woods, dragging two huge logs behind him.

Steve cleared his throat, and after he offered Bucky a quick kiss, he hastened back into the woods to finish the job that he and Dum-Dum had started.

Thankfully, the act of toting the logs from what remained of the oak tree and back to the cabin didn't really require anything in the way of instruction. As a result, Dum-Dum had no openings to get closer to Steve than was necessary, and luckily the scent of Bucky on him seemed to work as a bit of a deterrent.

The same could not be said when they got everything back to the cabin, in particular when they started using a saw to cut the logs into smaller pieces in order to chop them. The others were out of view from their particular position, and Dum-Dum seemed to be looking for every excuse in the _book _to get closer to Steve. In fact, he'd lost count of how many times he'd said, _“Dum-Dum, I got it,” _just to make the other werewolf leave him alone.

If nothing else, it made it pretty clear to Steve that he wasn't just imagining the whole thing.

Steve spent the day sawing down logs and chopping wood. Gabe took over kitchen duties, and came out a while later with a dozen deer steak sandwiches, proudly informing Steve that the food was made with the deer he'd accidentally killed.

“Stupid deer always tastes the best,” Morita joked as he bit into his own sandwich enthusiastically, while Steve blinked at him in confusion.

“Stupid?” Steve asked curiously, and Bucky chuckled as he leant into his side and continued to eat, though unfortunately the position meant that Bucky was chewing directly into his ear, which Steve didn't find particularly attractive.

“Most deer would hear the sound of a tree falling and have the sense to run away,” Jim offered as he sipped on the tea that had also been brought out, some sort of herbal blend that Gabe had thrown together from their dried herbs store. “On occasion, you will happen upon one as intelligent as a fart in a jam jar, like today.”

“Hence, stupid deer,” Gabe added, and the group dissolved into laughter.

After lunch, the pack split up again to return to their chores. Like some sort of blessing, Dum-Dum chose to go back into the woods and look for more dead trees, considering they'd need the lumber if they truly intended to make the little cabin bigger. At the very least, they didn't need to make the clearing any bigger, which would be a lot more work if they planned to finish before next winter.

The alone time felt good, and it gave Steve a real chance to think about how _weird _Dum-Dum had been all day. He couldn't really pin down what had caused the sudden change in attitude, and why the man suddenly seemed to like getting so touchy-feely with him, especially when he hadn't been that way before.

If Steve was to take a wild guess, he thought it might all come back to _scent._

After all, scent seemed to be a pretty powerful thing to the werewolves, something which Steve understood pretty well now that he was one of them. Maybe it was something in Steve's new werewolf scent that was making Dum-Dum act this way? Maybe he wasn't _aware _he was doing it? Maybe—

“_Steve, watch out!” _

Steve looked up, and let out a yelp as he froze, very nearly taking Bucky's head off, who was far too close to someone wielding an axe.

“Jeez, watch it with that thing, would ya? You nearly took my head off.”

“Sorry,” Steve replied with a wince as he dropped the axe before he did anything else stupid. “I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Bucky replied as he sidled up to Steve, and wrapped his arms around his middle. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Steve blushed at the pet name, especially now that Steve was the taller one, if only by a couple of inches. He wanted to tell Bucky what happened, but he also knew how territorial the man was, and he didn't want to cause any sort of drama.

“Um...I've had better days, to be honest,” Steve muttered, and Bucky cocked his head to the side as he gazed at him.

“Is the work too tiring?” Bucky asked, his expression shifting from sweet to concerned in an instant. “Do you want to do something else?”

“No, no, that's not it...I just...” Steve trailed off, and winced. “I want to tell you, but you gotta promise me something first, okay?”

“Sure, anything.”

“You are _not allowed_ to freak out.”

“Freak out?” Bucky asked, blinking owlishly. “Why would I freak out? What happened?”

“Promise first,” Steve insisted, and Bucky made a face, then rolled his eyes.

“Fine, fine, I promise. Now spit it out.”

“Dum-Dum...he's been acting sort of weird with me today,” Steve blurted out, much faster than he'd planned to. In his head, he'd intended to work his way up to it, but instead it all came out in a rush, and Bucky's eyebrows lifted in surprise, like that hadn't been what he had expected to hear.

“How has he been acting weird?” Bucky asked, his words carefully measured as he voiced them, like he was doing his best to stay calm.

“Um...he's been sort of...touchy-feely, and um...it feels really wrong, because it's not you,” Steve explained, feeling more and more awkward by the second, especially with Bucky looking at him with that bemused expression on his face. In truth, Steve was amazed that Bucky wasn't already tearing cheek into the forest to rip Dum-Dum's arms off or something.

“You scent is strong now,” Bucky said, almost like that explained everything. “_You _are strong, Steve. You can beat him down if he's really making you that uncomfortable. You never have to just accept it.”

“I don't want to hurt anybody,” Steve replied, frowning at his mate. “I just...I want him to knock it off, but I don't want to hurt him.”

“Steve, you're _so_ adorable,” Bucky cooed as he cupped Steve's cheeks in his hands, and pecked a light kiss to his lips, even as Steve blushed at the compliment. “Dum-Dum is probably just drawn to your scent, so he's not thinking straight. He might not even know he's doing it, which is why I have no plans to kill him—_yet._ But _you _are gonna talk to him about it, not me.”

“_Me?!”_

“Yes, _you,_” Bucky retorted with a smirk. “You're Alpha Mate, remember? So Dum-Dum has to listen to you if he wants to stay in the pack. If he keeps acting up, then you can tell me and I'll do something about it.”

“But you're not gonna help your poor mate now, is that what you're saying?” Steve teased, and Bucky responded with a grin.

“I'm here for you, Steve, but you're not the same as you were before. I trust that you can protect yourself now that you're all healed up. Obviously I'll help you when you need it, but you _can _stand up for yourself now, and you don't need to be afraid that you'll get...I don't know, knocked out or something.”

“What if I told you something real sweet, about how I'll _always _need you?”

“Hmm...maybe I'd answer with something about how you have your own strength...or something real empowering like that. Besides, it's _Dum-Dum._ He's not likely to get so upset that he reacts badly to what we're saying.” Bucky paused, and smirked. “Or, if he still acts weird around you, I'll drag him along on the next supply run.”

“You mean to that farm?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded. “Well, maybe you could bring the money I have saved up?”

“What for?”

“To pay them for all the stuff you've been stealing this winter—” Steve began, but he was cut off when Bucky began to laugh, and he narrowed his eyes at the alpha male. “What the hell's so funny?”

“Steve, we haven't been stealing from them, the Bartons _give _us that stuff,” Bucky explained between giggles. “Jeez, all this time you thought I was some sort of thief? I feel so _loved._”

“Well, how else do you pay for it? I just assumed you stole it, and besides, you keep talking about stealing a bed from town, so what was I supposed to think?”

“We trade,” Bucky explained with an amused smile. “The Bartons came over from England, and believe in a lot of those legends about us. I mean, almost none of them are true, but they still believe. One night the grandfather caught me in their hen house, and instead of shooting me on the spot, he realized what I was and made a deal with me—I get him wild game, and he'll give me a share of their stores. He hurt his back in some kind of good war—”

“—_Great _War,” Steve corrected on impulse, and Bucky waved him off with an infuriatingly charming grin.

“Anyway, he hurt his back, so he can't really go out and hunt like he used to. So I bring him game, and he gives me eggs and vegetables and stuff. I've gotten real close to the family, Farmer Barton's grandkid is too cute for _words, _let me tell you.”

“I had no idea you were a kids person,” Steve remarked as he pressed himself closer to Bucky, and the alpha male smirked confidently.

“I definitely am. The pack children _loved _me. All the mothers loved me too, because I could give them a break for a few hours at a time.”

There was a wistful note in Bucky's voice as he spoke, and Steve couldn't tell if it was related to the loss of his home, or missing the presence of children. Of course, there wasn't anything Steve could really do about the kids thing, so privately he hoped it wasn't _that _one.

Steve opened his mouth to say something else, when a big grey wolf ran out of the trees. There was a bundle of clothing clutched in between its jaws, and behind him he dragged a number of huge logs like it was effortless.

The reappearance of Dum-Dum brought about a change in Bucky, and he tensed his arms around Steve, though it was hard to say if it was protective or possessive. Despite the clear change in Steve's size, and the knowledge that he _could _fend for himself if he needed to, it still felt comforting to know that Bucky still didn't want him to get hurt in any way.

Steve turned his gaze away when the wolf stopped and changed back into a _very_ naked Dum-Dum, which brought out a chuckle from both of the werewolves, perhaps due to Steve's very human prudishness. Bucky responded by rubbing up against him, though not in a sexual way. Something in the back of Steve's mind told him that what Bucky was doing was scent-marking him, perhaps just to remind Dum-Dum who Steve belonged to, in case he tried anything again.

Privately, Steve _really _hoped that it would work, as he wasn't exactly keen to have _that _sort of conversation with his new friend.

~*~

As the afternoon passed into early evening, Steve excused himself from the wood-chopping in order to go in and prepare supper for everyone. A few of the pack members looked on with a sympathetic eye like he might be tired from working hard all day, but in truth Steve felt _fine_. He didn't feel even vaguely exhausted from all the manual labour, which was certainly a shift from how he used to be.

The truth of it was, he just wanted to get away from Dum-Dum. It was pretty clear that Bucky's scenting was starting to wear off, and Dum-Dum had been staring at him almost non-stop for the last hour. Maybe it wasn't very brave of him, but Steve would much rather get away from him than have some kind of confrontation with the man.

Steve found a whole deer leg hanging in the kitchen, and he smiled a little, an idea coming to him as he got it down (amazingly, without use of a stepping-stool) and slapped it onto the counter.

_No stew tonight, _Steve thought with glee as he headed down to the cellar and gathered the necessary ingredients.

Steve carried an armful of vegetables and dried herbs back upstairs, humming to himself as he dumped the vegetables and a jar of dried rosemary onto the counter. He stepped back outside to grab some kindling, and then headed for the wood stove, igniting it before he turned his attention back to the huge deer leg on his counter.

Thankfully, Bucky had had the good sense to leave all the fat on the leg. There wasn't much to begin with given how late in the season it was, but Steve planned to slather it in lard, anyway.

Steve used a bone knife to cut the leg into a more manageable piece, and one that would fit into their little oven. The rest he stripped from the bone, cut into chunks and set aside, then he split the bone and scraped out the marrow, which he also saved.

_Waste not, want not,_ he heard his ma sing-song in his head, and Steve smiled sadly. He wondered what his ma would think of him _now._

_Maybe if I looked like this, they never would've abandoned me, _Steve mused as he cut careful slits in the meat, and packed it full of garlic and rosemary. He folded the lard with more rosemary, and used his hands to smear it all over the roast.

Steve washed his hands, it taking a few tries to get all the fat off. He was so preoccupied with scrubbing his palms under the ice-cold water (unfortunately, for how amazing the pipes were, they only ran cold), he hadn't heard anyone else come in.

He did however sense when they closed the distance between themselves and Steve, and wrapped their arms firmly around his waist.

A knee-jerk instinct _screamed _at him to get away, and Steve jolted, wrenching himself away from Dum-Dum effortlessly before he all but _ran _to the other side of the miniscule kitchen, breathing hard in shock.

“Dum-Dum, what the _hell _are you doing?” Steve demanded, while the other man appeared startled, almost like he wasn't completely sure what had happened.

“I...I'm not sure,” he said meekly, and Steve scoffed. As much as he didn't want to cause any tension within the pack, there was _no way_ Dum-Dum was that stupid.

“I think you know _exactly _what you were doing,” Steve countered, brushing his damp hands over himself, his skin twitching like he'd walked through a spiderweb. No matter how many times it happened, he still couldn't quite get over how _wrong _it felt to be touched by any wolf but Bucky.

“I'm sorry!” Dum-Dum blurted out, but the pitch of his voice was odd, and it gave Steve the impression that Dum-Dum wasn't _really_ all that sorry about feeling him up. “I'm sorry, Steve...I just...you just..._your scent..._”

Dum-Dum took another step forward as his voice took on a dreamlike quality, and Steve scuttled back out of his reach.

“I don't give a good god damn if I have _fuck me _stamped on my ass,” Steve snapped, his anger seeming to jump out of him all at once, and the sharpness of his tone made Dum-Dum skid to an abrupt stop. “I think I've made it pretty clear that I'm not interested, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm with _Bucky—_your _alpha_. You haven't forgotten that yet, have you?”

“I—”

“—shut _up,”_ Steve interjected, and Dum-Dum snapped his mouth shut. “You've been acting way too familiar with me all damn day, and this stops right now. I don't care if I smell like the world's best bakery to you, if I say no, you're gonna knock it off, got it?”

Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd yelled so much. His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon, and Dum-Dum was white as a sheet, like it was only just clicking in his head how badly he'd screwed up. Outside, Steve spotted more than a few of the other pack members sneaking up to the kitchen window to see what Steve was shouting about, while Bucky was quick to chase them off before he stood there, arms crossed, and a proud smile on his face.

“I—I got it, Alpha Mate,” Dum-Dum stammered, and with his shoulders sagging as he voiced the title before he turned and shuffled out of the cabin, looking very much like a scolded puppy.

Without missing a beat, Bucky strode over to Dum-Dum and clapped a hand on one of his shoulders before he began to speak, though it was too far for Steve to hear any of it. If anything, it looked like Bucky had no plans to maul their pack member, which was probably a good sign.

Steve watched them for a few moments, amazed that it seemed to have been resolved so quickly. Bucky even seemed to be in good spirits as he guided Dum-Dum over to the wood they'd collected that day, and together the pair began to measure the longer logs, and then sawed them into long planks of wood.

Steve let out a long sigh, relieved that his latest crisis had apparently been resolved, and with one last glance to his mate and their friend, he at last went back to preparing dinner.


	16. Supply Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for October 25th. To my fellow Canadian readers, Happy Thanksgiving! 
> 
> Covid Note: My region is currently experiencing a second Lockdown. As some of you may know, I don't have internet at home, and use public Wi-Fi to update my stories. While I am hoping that this lockdown will not interrupt my updates in the coming weeks, if there is a delay, that is most likely the cause. As a high-risk individual, I need to be extra careful. Stay safe, everyone!

Chapter Sixteen – Supply Run

The last couple of weeks had been more awkward than fun, if Steve was being honest with himself.

With he and Bucky walking on eggshells around Dum-Dum and the rest of the pack figuring out what had happened between them _far_ more quickly than Steve would have liked, it had created a tense atmosphere that wasn't fun for anyone.

At the very least, Steve's _werewolf lessons_ gave him time away from the rest of pack, and it was something of a reprieve for whoever was helping him on that particular day. As it would turn out, Steve really had a knack for the whole foraging thing, and being able to detect the small details that set apart healing herbs from poisonous plants. Jim was thrilled, as it enabled them to cover more ground when looking for stuff, given that before this he was the only one who had any knowledge in that area.

Hunting, unfortunately, was another story altogether. It didn't come as a surprise to anyone that Steve was a little bit heavy-footed when it came to the particular skill, and couldn't bring himself to shoot a deer with the bow and arrow Bucky had made for him.

He was even less skilled at preparing the meat, and despite his new body and new senses, he couldn't handle the sight of the animal being butchered, and had to walk away more than once to make sure he didn't throw up directly on the carcass.

On the upside, setting traps was part of the job that Steve _was _good at. By the time he needed to check them the animal was usually already dead, and he didn't have to do the deed himself. Regardless, whenever he found a rabbit or weasel in one of the traps he'd laid, he always took a moment to say a small prayer of thanks for the animal's sacrifice so that he and their pack could eat before he set about freeing it, resetting the trap, and packing up his kill.

Unfortunately, not everything they needed could be found in the woods, and especially not so early in the season when most of the ground was still covered in snow. About ten days before Steve's first full moon, Bucky dragged out his trusty sled, piled a few sacks of deer and rabbit meat onto them, and he and Dum-Dum headed out for Barton Farm to trade.

Steve smiled as he watched them go; for all Bucky's determination that Steve be self-reliant and face his own problems instead of hiding behind Bucky, Steve found it kind of funny that Bucky still wasn't willing to leave Dum-Dum behind where he had access to Steve, and Bucky couldn't keep an eye on him.

Which was fair, honestly. Though Dum-Dum had been careful to keep his distance and only spoke to Steve when he absolutely _had_ to, there was still a distinct look of longing in the werewolf's eyes that Steve did _not _like.

However, with Bucky gone, their bed felt depressingly empty.

On top of that, it left Steve in the uncomfortable position of being technically in charge, given his pack status as Alpha Mate. He didn't have a _clue_ how to run things, and did his best to just keep everyone on task, more or less. Beyond making sure the pack stopped their work for breaks and food once in a while, he mostly followed their lead. Admittedly, Steve still felt a little self-conscious about how he knew practically nothing about what it _meant _to be a werewolf, and leading them in any capacity felt really strange.

“It's no bad thing, lad, we can help you until you feel comfortable leading us,” Jim said on Bucky's second day away from home. “No one is expecting you to _be _Alpha.”

“I know,” Steve replied with a weak shrug and feeble laugh. “It's just...”

“—Guys, focus please,” Gabe interjected with a grin as he carried over an armful of lumber to where Jim and Steve were standing in the hole they'd dug outside the cabin.

“Sorry,” Jim and Steve chorused, and laughed when Gabe rolled his eyes and walked away.

Together, the pack was arranging the lumber that would be used for the frame of the first new room that would be added to the house. The pack kept going on about how _soft _the ground was now, and how it was the _perfect time _to start their big summer project, never mind that it was barely April and the ground was still frozen stiff.

Of course, the frozen soil had been nothing to a werewolf's strength, and even Steve had found it pretty easy to dig out.

“Man, this is gonna be a _palace_ when we're done!” Morita cried as he and Gabe sketched notches onto the end of the beams, then used a thin saw to cut out precise pieces of the wood. With each one that the pair finished, Steve and Jim worked on fitting the notched beams together, while Jacques made sure everything fit properly so that it wouldn't fall apart the moment Steve and Jim let go.

Honestly, Steve hadn't even known it was possible to build things without nails, so the whole process seemed pretty damn miraculous to him. However, he supposed in the wilderness it made sense; there wasn't exactly a hardware store they could run to if they ran out of nails.

As a result, Steve understood why they'd elected to use that method, which he was slowly learning, and not actually terrible at. By the same token, he could recognize that this was precision work, and Steve had practically forced Gabe and Morita to take the helm on that task to make sure they wouldn't waste any wood.

“Think we're gonna be able to get enough bedding together for everyone?” Steve asked, grunting a little as he and Jim fit the left beam into the one at the bottom, wiggling the wood until it was parallel to the beam on the right, and creating part of one wall. Though Steve hadn't done much yet, it still felt like an accomplishment to see the wood he'd chopped down turn into something _real._

“Alpha will think of something,” Gabe said cheerily as they brought over another notched beam, and he and Morita worked to fit it across the top, finishing off that portion of the wall. “He knows how to look for abandoned human houses to steal the stuff we need if he can't get into one of the stores.”

“How does he know how to look for them?” Steve asked curiously, letting out a breath as he stepped back to admire the finished frame. They hadn't knocked in that wall of the cabin yet, primarily due to the fact that it was still pretty chilly in the evenings, and they needed to ensure that they'd be able to finish insulating it before they were confident in wrecking any part of their home.

“He looks for houses that have been dark for a few nights in a row,” Gabe said as he stepped back, and smiled when the first assembled frame didn't immediately topple over. They shovelled in a little bit of dirt and soil to anchor it in place, then moved on to the next piece. “Then he gets closer, and checks for signs of life...if the house looks like it hasn't been touched in a while, he breaks in and steals whatever the pack needs. That's usually how we got anything human-made back at the pack with...our...uh, other alpha.”

“I always commandeered the books,” Jim interjected cheerily, seemingly in an attempt to smooth over Gabe's visible discomfort at the mention of their old alpha, like it was somehow shameful for him to have brought him up at all. “Werewolves, as a rule, aren't overly fond of reading.”

“Jim tried to start a book club once,” Morita added as he rolled his eyes. “Jacques refused to read anything that wasn't by French authors, Gabe only liked Sherlock Holmes, I didn't care, and Jim only liked big, useless books—”

“—I've told you a _hundred _times, Morita, it's _Ulysses, _not _useless,” _Jim interjected hotly, and his reaction caused to others to dissolve into fits of laughter.

~*~

For the next few days, things were quiet. On the fourth day of Bucky's absence it poured freezing rain mixed with snow. The pack covered up their construction project with animal skins to protect it from the weather before they all hunkered down inside, piled the fireplace high with wood, and played cards, betting with chores instead of money.

Steve chose not to participate however, and sat by the window with some of Jim's pine needle tea and one of the books off the shelf, though he found it a little harder to curl up now that there was so much more of him, and the chair groaned ominously as a result of all his fidgeting.

“Missing your mate isn't worth breaking a chair over,” Gabe teased lightly, and Steve blushed as he glanced up from his book, and saw the others all staring at him.

“I'm not gonna break it,” Steve retorted defensively, though his voice was much softer than he'd intended. “I'm just...still getting used to..._this_.”

He motioned to himself, pretty keen to use it as an excuse, given that the rest of the pack had had more than enough of Steve pining over Bucky. At the very least, his excuse seemed to do the trick, and they joked about making him a bigger chair soon while they all went back to their card game.

Jacques took care of the meals that day, the same simple fare Steve had gotten used to over the last few months, though Steve did get up in order to prepare some loaves of sourdough bread, and admittedly with his new werewolf senses, the starter did smell positively _foul._

Though Steve wasn't about to admit that to anyone.

The quiet day was probably needed regardless, as it looked like the spring and summer were going to be fairly busy preparing for the winter, but Steve couldn't really appreciate it when Bucky was off somewhere in the woods, probably hunkering down for the day, as travelling through freezing rain probably wasn't a great idea.

“Think Bucky will be back soon?” Steve asked around lunchtime, and Jacques and Gabe exchanged an amused look. “What?”

“We were wondering how long it would be before you asked,” Jim filled in with a warm chuckle. “True Mate pairs often struggle with being apart for long. He should be back soon, Steve.”

~*~

Despite Jim's promises, Bucky _wasn't _back soon.

A full week had passed, and Steve was a complete and utter _wreck._

Beyond the fact that Steve hated being away from Bucky for long periods of time, now he was getting worried that something had actually happened. And with the full moon inching closer with each passing day, Steve didn't like the idea of passing his first moon without Bucky there to help him through it. From what the others had told him, it wasn't exactly a cakewalk.

“_Oh, yeah, hurts like a motherfucker,” _Morita had told him during one of their tracking lessons, _“Most turned wolves don't actually experience a change until they're at least five or six, and it feels like your skin's being ripped off and nailed back on inside-out. It takes a few moons for your body to get used to it enough that it doesn't hurt as bad anymore.”_

That mental image was enough to thoroughly freak Steve out, and he hadn't had the nerve to ask about the change again. Sure, he'd always been stupid enough to take on any bully who crossed his path back in Brooklyn, but out here he was having a harder and harder time actually _not _being scared of every damn thing that happened. Was it because all of it was so unknown? So foreign to him? If he yelled at a bully in an alleyway, he knew what would happen. Out here, there was no telling what a new day might bring, and Steve found himself struggling to face those challenges with even a modicum of courage.

Though he hated to admit it, he was certain that all of this would be easier if Bucky was here. Steve felt less like a leader without Bucky around, and more like some kind of stand-in. Sure, the pack followed him without question, treated him with respect, and never made him feel like he was somehow _less _than them. They treated him like their leader, their captain, but Steve just couldn't _feel _it.

“You okay, Steve?” Gabe asked, his voice breaking Steve out of his reverie, and he turned from the window in order to smile at his packmate.

“Yeah,” he replied, and shrugged feebly. It was raining again, and hardly weather for construction. Instead, Gabe was rendering fat from moosemeat for candles, and the others were scouring the ceiling for water damage, and making notes of what needed to be fixed when the weather let up, while Steve was acting the part of the lazy leader, and watching the rain while he read a book. “Just...thinking about Bucky.”

“You know,” Gabe began, letting out a soft grunt as he eased down next to Steve on the reading nook Morita had constructed for Steve, which was just big and wide enough for Steve to curl up under the window without feeling confined. It had been really thoughtful, and made it easy for Steve to watch the rain while he read.

“I know...?” Steve prompted when Gabe never finished his statement, and he laughed as though he'd only just noticed himself.

“Alpha wouldn't be gone this long without a damn good reason,” Gabe explained, and his eyes widened a little when he saw Steve visibly tense. “Oh, I don't mean he's in trouble; he's been gone for supply runs this long before, but usually there's something that keeps him away.”

“Something like what?” Steve asked curiously, and Gabe shrugged a little.

“Alpha Phillips always complained that he was _too soft for a werewolf_,” Gabe said with a slight laugh. “Once he was on a supply run for the pack, and he had to go to the town and steal blankets and clothes and stuff. We prided ourselves on being self-reliant, but some stuff is just easier to steal than make, so...” Gabe trailed off, and shook his head. “Anyway, on the way back he heard screams in the woods, and found these humans being attacked by a bear. Well, a werewolf is more than a match for a measly black bear, so he changed and raced over to the humans, fought the bear off, then ran off before he changed back and pretended to be a human who just _came across them_. He bundled the humans onto his sled and carried them back to town where they could get help. He stayed for days to make sure they'd be okay. Alpha Phillips was _pissed _when he got back, but everyone else was really impressed that he just dropped everything to help those humans. We never forgot that.”

“That would explain why he helped me that day,” Steve mused with a wry smile, his heart seeming to swell in his chest as he thought of the story. Did that mean that even if he and Bucky _hadn't _been true mates, he would have helped him? He liked to think so.

“_Please_,” Gabe joked, “we all know that Bucky helped you for more reasons than just _that.”_

Steve snorted with laughter as he nodded in agreement, and Gabe slapped him on the shoulder once before he got up and headed back to the kitchen to check on his fat.

Steve watched him go, a small smile on his face, before he pulled his legs back up on the reading nook and looked out on the cold, misty rain. Admittedly, the nook would feel _huge _for anyone but the tallest people in their pack, and it still felt a little odd that he was now part of that grouping, as he still _felt _small sometimes, especially when it came to learning how to be useful in the pack, and not just the useless partner of their leader.

With a small sigh, Steve tried to banish his morose thoughts, knowing full well that most of his depressed mood was due to the fact that Bucky still wasn't back yet.

Instead of dwelling on his absence for any longer, Steve turned his attention to the book he was holding, and hoped that _Moby Dick _would serve as a decent distraction until the rain let up, or Bucky got home.

Whichever came first.

~*~

The remainder of the day was just as slow and boring as the days preceding it. Steve read, though he got up to help when the living room had sprung a leak, and they used an old pot to catch the drips, in particular when the rain came down even harder, and plunged the cabin in a damp chill that was even enough to make the werewolves shiver.

They chased away the cold by building up the fire higher, and kept the wood stove going even after supper had been prepared, a hot stew with the last of their moosemeat, along with a warm loaf of sourdough bread.

After dinner, Steve kicked Gabe out of the kitchen so he could do something productive that day, and cleaned up from their meal. Once he'd finished that, he headed into the living room where the others were hotly debating what card game to play, as they were all sick and tired of poker—testament to just how often that week they'd been holed up inside due to bad weather.

It gave Steve a bit of a stupid idea, and he suggested _charades. _

With Steve acting as referee, he scrawled out things he thought a bunch of secluded werewolves might be able to guess, and explained the rules of the game, and how to sign words and syllables to them, then watched the madness begin.

Predictably, it was a bit of a disaster. Gabe and Jacques faced off against Jim and Morita. Morita kept forgetting that he couldn't talk, and Steve kept having to remind Jacques that props weren't allowed. For the first few rounds nobody guessed anything within the time frame, and Steve was about to just give up on the whole stupid idea when Gabe drew something from the bowl, and smirked.

Without even signing how many words or syllables, he grabbed Steve in a bear hug, and mimed kissing him with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. Before Steve was even able to vocalize some sort of protest, Jacques began to howl with laughter as he shouted, “_Alpha, you're Alpha!_”

Gabe let him go, a manic grin on his face, even as Steve blushed furiously and demanded that he _never do that again. _Predictably, no one listened to him as they kept laughing, and cheerily told Morita and Jim that it was their turn.

The game went on well into the night, though thankfully no one else tried to kiss Steve. At last, Jim announced that he was too tired to continue and the game broke up. Steve bid the others goodnight and headed to his and Bucky's room, which was still a comforting place, as it smelled strongly of Steve's mate, even with Bucky's extended absence.

Steve changed into his pyjamas and slid under the covers while he let out a long, morose sigh. The worst part about Bucky being gone were the nights. Without his mate there it always took Steve forever to fall asleep, and he'd wake in the mornings groggy and miserable.

Tonight was no different, and he stared out the window at the moon peeking through the heavy clouds, so close to full, and felt as though his heart was baying under its light, begging for Bucky to get home soon.

~*~

Steve didn't recall falling asleep, but as he woke up he knew it couldn't have been for long, especially when it was still dark out.

For a moment, Steve wasn't sure what had woken him. He wasn't even sure if he'd truly been asleep, given that he didn't feel that telltale grogginess that usually accompanied him upon waking. What he did know was that _something _had woken him up, and he needed to figure out if it was some kind of threat or not.

Steve rubbed his eyes as he sat up slowly, and listened. For a moment all was quiet, but then he heard it—

_Voices._

Steve slid from the bed as silently as he could. The voices were soft and muffled, making them impossible to hear with any sort of clarity, even with Steve's heightened senses. He wanted to believe that it was Bucky and Dum-Dum home at last, but he couldn't take that chance, not with the rest of the pack at risk if it was some kind of threat.

Steve threw on a sweater over his thin pyjama shirt, and jammed his feet into his boots before he stepped as silently as he could out of his room and into the main area of the cabin. He could see that the others were awake, but they hadn't moved. Steve opened his mouth to ask them who they thought the people were, but Jim lifted a finger to his lips, clearly telling Steve to remain quiet.

Steve nodded in understanding, and resumed his silent walk towards the door, the general direction where the voices seemed to be coming from.

Upon reaching the door, Steve pressed his ear against the wood, and listened. He could hear two men softly arguing, insisting that they needed to _get inside quickly_, while the other one protested that notion for some reason, to which the first one to speak said, _this stuff can wait, Dum-Dum, we need to get him inside._

Relief flooded every fibre of Steve's being, paired with an excitement that nearly caused him to barrel right through the closed door.

_Bucky was home. _

_Finally._

Just barely managing to reign in his joy, Steve ripped open the door, it nearly coming off its hinges in his excitement, but in the same moment he skidded to a stop, startled by the scene displayed before him.

Outside stood Bucky and Dum-Dum, accompanied by three sleds lashed together instead of the single one Steve recalled them leaving with. All of them were overloaded with supplies, all of which had been covered with blankets and animal skins to protect them from the elements.

More than that however, Steve's shock stemmed primarily from Bucky, and what he was holding aloft in his arms.

Clutched in the alpha male's embrace, swaddled in blankets and furs, was a sleeping child. Bucky was clutching as though he was precious, and the alpha looked positively petrified for the young boy's safety.

When Steve's eyes met Bucky's, the brunet offered him a weak, sad smile.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said with a humourless grin, “sorry I'm late.”


	17. The Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for November 8th. Enjoy!
> 
> **Content Warning: Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Attempted Child Murder**
> 
> Note: Going into November, I will also be participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). While I am usually pretty good at balancing everything pretty well, if there are any delays in updating, that would be why. If you want to follow what I am writing about during NaNoWriMo, you can find me at nanowrimo.org/participants/jbankai89.

Chapter Seventeen – The Boy

Steve had no _clue _what to say.

Prior to nearly ripping the door off its hinges, Steve's plan had been to run to Bucky and embrace him, but with this new unknown in his path he had been struck _dumb._

Where had the boy come from, and why did Bucky bring him back? Won't his parents be worried? Was kidnapping just normal behaviour for werewolves? Did Bucky even have a vaguest conception of what he'd done?

Steve breathed in as he continued to try and find the right words to verbalise how utterly _bewildered_ he presently felt, and as he did so, he unconsciously scented the area around him—including the boy.

At which point Steve's eyes widened, because the boy smelled like a _wolf._

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, aghast, “what the hell did you _do?”_

Bucky frowned, clearly hurt by Steve's tone. He stepped forward wordlessly, carrying the boy with purpose as he whispered, “let me get this little guy inside, okay? I'll explain everything once he's settled.”

Steve nodded dumbly, not sure what else he could do or say, even as his stomach churned unpleasantly. He could still recall the overwhelming pain of his own turning, and to do that to a little kid who couldn't've been older than three, it was _horrifying._ Bucky had mentioned the the Bartons had a young child; could this really be the _same _child? Why did Bucky turn him? What would possess him to do something like that?

Steve shivered, wondering if he maybe didn't know Bucky as well as he may have thought as he watched in a stunned sort of silence as Bucky carried the sleeping boy to their room and tucked him in, while the rest of the pack got out of bed and began to help Dum-Dum unload the sleds. Once uncovered, Steve saw that they were piled high with dismantled beds, mattresses, blankets, and huge bags stuffed full of vegetables and grain, crates filled with chicken and duck eggs, along with huge sacks of meat.

The final sled was filled with toys and clothes, the faint scent coming off all the items making it clear that it all belonged to the boy. The presence of seemingly everything that the boy owned piled onto the sled only heightened Steve's confusion, even as Bucky shuffled out of the bedroom and all but fell onto the couch, looking more exhausted than Steve had ever seen him before.

Dum-Dum wordlessly pressed a glass bottle into Bucky's hand from one of the sleds, and the shade of the liquid made Steve assume that it was whisky. Bucky drank deeply from it like it was water, then passed it back to Dum-Dum, who did the same.

Neither man said a word until all the sleds had been unpacked, and the mountains of goods had been vaguely placed into some kind of order. All the food had been left in the kitchen, put away in places where it was less likely to spoil over the course of the night, while the bedding had been left in a massive pile near the back door, as though to be seen to later. The boy's things had been piled up nearby, but pointedly left in their own little space, as though there was a need for it to be kept separate and not mixed up with everything else.

“So,” Steve began as he sat down next to his mate, unwilling to dance around the topic when Bucky might have _actually _kidnapped a little kid. “Plan on telling me what the hell's going on?”

“It's been...a rough week,” Bucky hedged, smiling weakly at Steve, though the expression seemed forced, given that Bucky looked closer to crying than laughing.

“Start from the beginning, Alpha,” Dum-Dum advised, his voice a little hoarse, like someone who was recovering from a huge swell of emotion.

“The plan was to go to the town and steal some beds, then go to the Bartons' Farm and trade with them,” Bucky began, his eyes fixed firmly on his knees as he spoke, like he was ashamed. “We only managed to steal one bed before the owner of the store caught us, and we had to run or get shot. I was pretty upset, as I'd hoped to get more than that, but then...then...”

Bucky trailed off as his voice caught in his throat. To Steve's horror, he watched as tears began to stream down Bucky's cheeks.

“The door was open,” Bucky continued after a long silence. His voice shook, and he sniffed sharply as he wiped roughly at his cheeks. “And we could smell blood. A _lot _of blood.”

“Oh, God...” Steve whispered as he suddenly understood what probably happened, though the rest of the pack was dead quiet, the horror in their silence palpable. Dum-Dum was weeping silently, clearly as devastated as Bucky was by whatever had happened.

“At first we thought it was some rogue wolves, but we only smelled humans,” Dum-Dum filled in with a shaky voice when it seemed that Bucky wasn't able to continue. “Humans came and killed the whole family with guns. All their livestock was gone, and some of their stuff inside the house too. At first we thought everyone was dead, but at the last minute we realised that Clint—the boy we brought with us—was still alive...and with a faceful of buckshot. Some _human _shot that little boy in the _face_. Who the hell does that to a three-year-old?”

“It looked awful,” Bucky added, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “Clint was just barely hanging on. His face was mangled, and we knew if we didn't do something, he would die. I changed and bit him. I wouldn't've done it normally, I would have _asked _before I did something like that, but he was going to die if I didn't, so I had to—that way, at least he _would _wake up.”

“But...how?” Steve whispered, and Bucky's face whipped towards him, his eyes filled with hurt, clearly misjudging Steve's tone of voice, and it appeared that he thought that Steve believed he was wrong for turning him. “I mean, how did he look so...fine? When you brought him in, I mean. He didn't look like he'd...been hurt.”

“The same way the Bite turned you into a tank,” Dum-Dum said, though he couldn't quite manage a jocular tone to match his teasing words, and they came out flat. “Our saliva in our wolf form is regenerative for humans. It fixed his face, rebuilt the broken bones, and...everything else.”

“Everything...else?” Steve asked, brow furrowing in confusion when Bucky nodded in agreement to Dum-Dum's statement. It felt like Dum-Dum was implying more than just the simple fact that the Bite had saved the boy's life. There seemed to be something more there, though Steve had no idea what.

“Clint...he was deaf before this,” Bucky said at last. “He was really confused when he woke up. He had a hard time focusing on anything because he was so distracted by the fact that he was able to hear now. I don't think he really understands that his family is all gone. Dum-Dum showed me how to give them a human burial before Clint woke up, and we cleaned up all the blood. We wanted to make it look like nothing bad had happened, because we didn't want to scare him.”

Dum-Dum shot Steve with a significant look, and Steve nodded in understanding. There was obviously more to it than not wanting to scare the boy, there was also the notion that if it looked like a murder had taken place, the police might come looking. It might be hard to explain to human police why they couldn't go to jail during a full moon, as they'd likely just destroy the place, and kill any cell mate they'd be paired up with.

Of course, the combination of the fact that they were so deep in the woods that it was unlikely anyone would find them and how much stuff they'd brought back, it would most likely look like they'd up and left, which was probably what Dum-Dum was hoping for, if the look on his face was anything to go by. Clearly Bucky had been too worried about the boy's well-being to even consider other factors, though admittedly Steve didn't know if Bucky fully understood the concept of _police._

“So..what now?” Steve asked as he gazed at Bucky. “What are we gonna do with the kid?”

“_Clint_,” Bucky corrected tersely, “his name is _Clint._ We're going to raise him. He has no family, no one to go back to, and he's like us now. He's my responsibility.”

“Your responsibility?” Steve asked, startled by Bucky's tone of voice, but he tried not to show it. It was pretty clear that Bucky was devastated by the deaths of a family he was so close to, and Steve didn't want to make it worse. Unfortunately, Bucky seemed to immediately take Steve's question the wrong way as his red-rimmed eyes narrowed, and Steve hastily added, “what I mean is...shouldn't it be..._our _responsibility?”

“...what?” Bucky croaked, and Steve smiled at him warmly. Sure, he hadn't expect a kid to _ever _enter the picture, and admittedly the only experience with kids he'd ever had was with his step-father's shitty children who weren't allowed to talk to him. However, Steve wasn't so heartless as to _not _see how much Clint meant to Bucky, and how broken up Bucky was over everything that had transpired. He _needed_ to make sure Bucky had the support he required to get through this, or he'd never be a fit alpha to the rest of them, and Steve knew that the others needed Bucky's leadership to keep them going. Steve, on the other hand, just needed _Bucky._

“I mean, you bit him, so that makes him yours now,” Steve said softly, and he felt his uncertainty lessen when he spotted a few of the other pack members nod in agreement to Steve's words. “And you bit me, and _I'm _yours. So...wouldn't that make Clint..._ours?_ Little...Alpha Cub? Or something? I mean, I'd be the first to admit that I know nothing about raising kids, and that poor little guy has been through more than any kid deserves, but I'm all for it, and I'll be there to help you through it...we all will.”

“He's right, you know,” Jacques added in the same soft tone of voice. “The boy, he needs us now. We will all be Mama and Papa to him.”

The others all nodded or voiced their agreement to Steve and Jacques's sentiments. Bucky's shoulders immediately relaxed, a small, tentative smile coming to his face, and he moved in to kiss Steve for the first time since coming home. That small act seemed to relax whatever instincts of Steve's that were still aching for his mate, and he let out a soft wolfish sound, almost a purr, while Bucky whispered, “we'll make this work, Steve, I _promise_.”

Bucky and Dum-Dum were clearly too exhausted to do much else that night, and turned in early. A queen-sized mattress and box spring were carefully moved into Steve and Bucky's room, but even with all the noise they made carrying everything in, the little boy in Steve and Bucky's old bed didn't stir.

Bucky was pretty thrilled by the bigger bed, and after it was piled high with some furs and blankets he stripped down to his underwear and immediately went to sleep, leaving Steve to tiptoe out of the room and help the others organize their new sleeping arrangements with a line of five twin mattresses pressed together in front of the fireplace, and all of them were enjoying the mattresses _far too much _in Steve's opinion, each of them letting out grotesque moans as they laid down, like they were having sex and not about to go to sleep.

The pack thought they were pretty hilarious, even as Steve rolled his eyes, and Dum-Dum snapped at them all to shut up so that he could rest properly for the first time in about a week.

Dum-Dum's command, more than anything, seemed to sober up the pack, and they went back to any last-minute organization the new supplies needed before Steve also announced he needed to sleep, then stripped out of his shirt and work jeans as he headed back into the bedroom, only to skid to a stop at the threshold when he spotted what was waiting for him inside.

The little twin bed was empty, and the boy had curled up against Bucky's chest. Bucky, in turn, had wrapped his arms protectively around the little boy, who had tucked his head in against Bucky's chest like a little bird seeking his mother's warmth.

It was so sweet that Steve was half-tempted to just leave them be for the night, but his ridiculous werewolf instincts _balked _at the notion of Steve stepping away from his mate after so long apart. With the wolf inside him calling to Bucky, Steve stepped into the room as quietly as he could, and eased down next to his mate, bracketing the little boy, who immediately began to stir, but a soft hush from Bucky was all that was needed to relax him again, and he went back to sleep.

“We'll figure everything out tomorrow,” Bucky whispered, so softly that Steve had to strain his ears to hear him. “I _promise.”_

Steve didn't want to speak too loudly and wake the boy, so instead he nodded, and reached out to touch Bucky's arm in an act of silent reassurance. Bucky nodded, clearly understanding, and smiled when Steve carefully inched in to offer Bucky a gentle kiss.

As the wind whistled outside, making bare trees rustle and their half-finished construction projects creak ominously, Steve tugged up the bedding over the three of them, and he felt a small swell of pride in his chest when the boy let out a small, blissful sigh. Sure, he didn't know jack about raising kids, but even Steve knew that that was a good sound, one they probably wouldn't hear once he woke up and remembered what had happened.

Steve banished the thought as he relaxed into the soft mattress, and watched Bucky drop off to sleep before he did the same.

~*~

Steve woke the following morning to the smell of eggs and bacon, and discovered that of the three of them, he was the first to rise. Bucky was still dead asleep, but the boy was awake, silently gazing around the room with a look of confusion on his face, like he had no clue where he was. Despite this, he was clinging tightly to Bucky like a mother opossum and its baby, making it pretty clear that little Clint had no plans to go _anywhere _without Bucky around.

Steve tried to offer the little boy a friendly smile, but he responded by tucking his face into the crook of Bucky's neck, like he was trying to hide from him.

Disappointed, but not overly surprised, Steve huffed a soft sigh as he slid from the bed and dressed hastily, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he padded out of the bedroom and down the hall, following his nose to the kitchen, where Dum-Dum was working on breakfast alone, the others all still fast asleep on their new beds.

Though this was Steve's first time alone with Dum-Dum since their _incident, _with all that had happened recently Steve was too exhausted to be nervous about it. Dum-Dum turned when he heard Steve walk into the space, and he offered him a nervous smile before he turned back to the bacon he was cooking.

“How's Alpha?” Dum-Dum asked, and Steve shrugged helplessly while he poured himself a tall cup of coffee.

“Exhausted,” Steve replied as he took a long drink from the cup. “The kid's awake, but he's clinging to Bucky like a koala or somethin'. I didn't want to scare him by forcing him away from Bucky.”

“He's been pretty needy the whole way back,” Dum-Dum supplied as he gave the huge pan of scrambled eggs a stir, and poked at the sausages he was also cooking. Steve didn't remember them having sausage, much less the equipment or know-how to make it, and he guessed that it had probably come from the farm. “He pitched a fit every time Alpha had to change and help me pull our supplies, or had to go find firewood, or anything. It's a good thing we had no plans to hunt during the trip back, because Clint's screaming would have scared anything off.”

“Poor kid...” Steve mused with a soft sigh. “Must be confusing. It's a lot to happen so damn fast.”

“If Alpha didn't bite him, he would have died,” Dum-Dum pointed out, his terse tone of voice so defensive that it threw Steve off for a moment, and he felt at a loss for what had upset the other man, but in the same breath Steve realised that Dum-Dum was presuming that Steve was judging Bucky for turning the child at _all._

“I didn't mean that,” Steve replied evenly as he dropped his gaze in order to stare into his coffee. “I just mean that it's a lot of change for one little boy. And there isn't exactly anyone nearby for him to play with, just a bunch of grown-ups. I just mean...it's gonna be complicated, that's all.”

“You have any better ideas?” Dum-Dum asked, though his tone was so muddled Steve couldn't tell if Dum-Dum was being sarcastic or not.

“Not really,” Steve admitted with a small shrug. “Bucky's mentioned once or twice that he was good with kids, and I trust him. I'm just worried he's bitten off more than he can chew.”

“Alpha has _always _taken on more than he should,” Jim interjected suddenly, and Steve turned to see the other werewolf sitting up in bed and yawning, while the others were beginning to stir, though they hadn't gotten up yet. “And he's pigheaded enough that if he gets overwhelmed, he won't admit it. He'll just keep going until he drives himself into the ground.”

“So what are we s'posed to do about it?” Steve asked, arching a brow, and Jim chuckled warmly.

“Oh, I'm certain there's a thing or two you, Steven, can do to take the edge off,” Jim said as he waggled his eyebrows, then laughed when Steve blushed crimson. “As for the rest of us...we are well-versed in the art of spotting when our dear Alpha is getting overwhelmed. We'll all be there to take care of him until his protectiveness for his little ward calms a little.”

“When _whose _protectiveness calms a little?” A voice interjected, and everyone turned to see Bucky stepping into the main area of the cabin with little Clint held aloft in his arms. The boy's eyes were red, like he'd recently been crying, and Bucky was holding onto him so tightly it was a wonder the boy could still breathe at all.

“Oh, Steve's, naturally,” Jim replied smoothly, even as Bucky rolled his eyes, like he knew that Jim had been talking about him. “You know how worried Steve got in your absence, Alpha.”

Bucky huffed like he didn't believe that for a second, and meandered over to the kitchen. Clint wiggled in his arms and whispered something in his ear, and Bucky smiled as he nodded, stopping in order to grab a few thick books from the tiny book case, then made it the rest of the way to the table, setting the stack of books on the empty chair next to Steve, then gently set Clint on top of them.

Clint immediately began to breathe hard and whine, gazing up to Bucky with a distraught look in his eyes like he'd been abandoned. At once, Bucky hastily gathered Clint up again, and the bot settled down slowly as Bucky rocked and hushed him.

No one dared to protest how much Bucky was coddling the boy as he cleared away the books off the chair, and sat down with Clint on his lap. Dum-Dum made up two plates for the alpha and set them both at his place setting, then made one for Steve, before the rest of the pack shuffled into the kitchen slowly, accepting plates of bacon, eggs, and sausage from Dum-Dum one by one, waiting quietly until Bucky started on his meal, alternately feeding Clint as he went like he was a baby, and not like he was a boy of three, who could clearly feed himself.

Steve exchanged worried looks with the rest of the pack, though Dum-Dum seemed to be taking it all in stride, like he had seen all of this before. Steve had no idea what to make of it, but by the same token, Bucky was so tense that Steve didn't think that discussing it at the present moment was the best idea.

They finished eating, and Morita took to the task of cleaning up while the others headed outside to resume their construction of the new rooms for the cabin. Bucky had decided to take on the task of sorting out their food with Clint sticking to him like glue, while Steve, feeling slightly defeated, headed outside to help the others.


	18. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for November 22nd. Enjoy!

Chapter Eighteen – Tension

If Steve was being honest with himself, he had truly been _looking forward _to his first full moon with Bucky and the pack.

Unfortunately, the unexpected wrench of little Clint had put something of a damper on his excitement.

Admittedly, Steve wasn't what one might consider a _natural _parent. On top of that, Clint had been thrust into his life so suddenly that the kid felt more like a burden to him than a blessing. Sure, Steve felt _awful _for what the kid had gone through, he wasn't some kind of ogre, but that didn't help to make Steve to feel any less separated from his mate, especially when he _really _needed him right now.

Except, as much as Steve felt like he needed his mate, there was a little boy who needed him more. So Steve kept his mouth shut, and tried not to feel irrationally jealous about all of it.

Truth be told, Steve was doing a piss-poor job of it. While Clint clung to Bucky like a silent baby opossum, almost everyone else could sense Steve's tension. Steve brushed their worries off, until the day before the full moon when Morita couldn't hold the wall frame steady, and Steve snapped at him, both verbally _and_ figuratively, swatting the other werewolf upside the head, making Morita grunt as his head swung forward, and knocked against the wood.

“All right, that's _it,_” Jim cried out as he grabbed Steve by the shoulder and tugged him away before he could hurt Morita any more. “Take a walk, Alpha Mate—you are _out _of line.”

Steve tried to protest, after all, he was definitely stronger than Jim was. Except for some weird reason he grumpily followed Jim's lead, stalking into the forest and leaving squelchy springtime footprints in his wake.

Jim didn't stop walking until the sound of the pack faded into the background and Jim found a large boulder that could serve as a park bench, and forced Steve down onto it.

“Now you listen to me, Steven,” Jim said evenly notably omitting Steve's title for the first time in ages, “no matter what sort of bollocks you have going on with Alpha, there is _no reason _to take it out on any of us.”

“How do you know there's anything going on?” Steve retorted as he crossed his arms, and even as he glared down at his lap, he could see Jim scoff in his peripheral vision.

“The resentment is coming off you in _waves_, my dear,” Jim said smoothly, and Steve felt himself flush at the epithet. “I can't blame you, honestly. Bucky had barely passed you a glance since he got back with Clint, and it would make _anyone _feel resentful, and Bucky is so deeply entrenched in _protective mode_ that he can't see how it's affecting you.”

“How can you not blame me?” Steve demanded as he looked back up at Jim, who was smiling at him fondly. “I mean...who gets this mad over a kid who clearly _needs _us?”

“The moon is affecting you,” Jim stated simply, and when Steve raised his eyebrows in question, his companion added, “before the moon, emotions are always running high. It's making Alpha _extra _protective of Clint, and it is probably making Clint even more anxious, which is most likely why he hasn't said a word since he's gotten here, except to Alpha, I presume, and everything in between. After the moon, I'm certain things will calm down.”

“So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Steve demanded grumpily, “I mean, if this keeps up, I'll probably say something I _really _don't mean, and then Bucky'll hate me forever.”

“Alpha has a lot of responsibility right now, that is true,” Jim agreed. “If I were to hazard a guess, perhaps he just hasn't come up with a way to balance it all yet without anyone feeling...shall we say..._left out._”

Jim levelled Steve with a pointed sort of look, and Steve heaved a solemn sigh.

Would any of this _ever _get easier?

~*~

In spite of Jim's advice, Steve still felt a little uneasy about confronting Bucky when everyone's emotions were still running high. He wanted to wait it out, but his stomach was so tied up in knots and that stupid, persistent feeling of abandonment, that Steve didn't know if he'd be _able _to wait until the full moon had set.

After Steve had made sure to emphatically apologize to Morita, Steve began to help Dum-Dum fit the planks of wood onto the wall's frame while Morita and Jacques worked on the opposite wall. Gabe and Jim were sawing more planks, while everyone was vaguely debating whether or not they needed to head back into the woods for more dead trees yet.

Bucky, instead of helping, was sitting inside with Clint.

There were mugs of something on the coffee table, the way it was steaming made Steve assume it was some kind of tea, except the little boy was gazing at it instead of drinking it. Bucky was talking to him energetically, but softly enough that over all the commotion Steve couldn't hope to hear him.

It felt so achingly different from the night Bucky had brought Clint home. That night, Steve had felt so certain that he and Bucky could raise Clint together, like a family.

Now, after days of Bucky practically ignoring him in favour of paying attention to the kid, Steve hated how resentful he felt. He didn't _want _to feel like this, and especially towards a kid who had just lost _everything_, but it was like he couldn't help it—no matter how hard he tried, he was still furious that Bucky had picked the kid over _him._

“_Steve, watch it!” _

Steve looked up, and grimaced when he noticed how crooked he was holding his plank of wood. He fixed it, and Dum-Dum hammered in the wooden pegs that would hold it in place, while the others all gazed over to Steve with varied looks of concern in their eyes, though no one said a word.

As the afternoon passed into early evening, Gabe headed inside ahead of the others to prepare a huge meal, mostly consisting of meat and potatoes. Most of the pack seemed pretty excited about the coming moon, but as it drew closer, bolts of pain began to lance through Steve's muscles, stopping him from continuing the construction project with the others.

“Come inside to rest, there's a good lad,” Jim said as he pried the mallet from Steve's hands, then guided him inside. “First moons are hard on turned wolves, and your muscles are bracing for the change. I'll get you some ointment that will help ease the pain...”

Jim guided him to the couch, and he sat down heavily while Jim dashed down the hall. Given that Bucky wasn't around, Steve could safely assume he was with Clint in their room, which was further evidenced when he heard Jim and Bucky's voices sound from somewhere down the hall.

“Jim, what are you doing back here?”

“Getting ointment for your _mate_,” Jim responded with an icy, accusatory edge to his voice. “His muscles are hurting, because in case you've forgotten, it's his first moon tonight. He needs some support right now.”

“Why the hell is he getting support from _you_?” Bucky shot back. “You're not his mate, I am.”

“You could've fooled me, _Alpha,_” Jim retorted. “You've paid him no mind at _all_ since you returned from the supply run!”

“_Excuse me?_” Bucky sputtered. “I've been kind of busy helping a _traumatized little kid, _in case you haven't noticed!”

“But he's not the _only _one who needs you right now, Alpha,” Jim said pointedly, his voice dropping the angry tone as it softened to something more plaintive, and Steve relaxed without even realizing that he'd tensed up at all. Though Jim sounded calmer now, Steve could still sense the tension in the air.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky demanded. “Steve's fine.”

“Steve is _not fine_, and you know it,” Jim said firmly. “Your mate _needs _you right now. He needs his mate. He is a turned wolf, and this is his first full moon. He is scared, and he has _no idea_ what to expect during the change. Why would you push him away right now? Just to convince his instincts that he's been abandoned? Do you think that will end well for our pack if the Alpha Mate truly believes that his True Mate has abandoned him?”

Absolute silence fell between the two men. Honestly, Steve had no clue how the kid hadn't woken up from all the noise, as they sure as hell weren't even trying to keep their voices down anymore.

The quiet that the cabin now found itself in was odd, at least from Steve's point of view. It wasn't a quiet borne of tension, anger, or even shock. No, to him it felt like a silent understanding, like a warning of what might happen if Steve's brain, or werewolf brain, or _something_ thought he'd been abandoned.

And it was pretty damn clear that even if Steve had no clue what it meant, Bucky most certainly did.

“Excuse me, Alpha,” Jim said with a cold note to his voice. “I need to get this back to Alpha Mate.”

Steve heard Jim take a step, then his eyes widened as he heard a scuffle, like the two werewolves had suddenly begun to fight.

Steve tried to get up, fully intending to break them apart, only to let out a hiss of pain as he tried to move as all his muscles immediately seized up, and he fell back on the couch with a small groan of pain.

In an instant, Bucky was there.

If Steve was being honest with himself, he was genuinely surprised that Bucky had managed to tear himself away from Clint long enough to see to Steve, but he didn't have the heart to say it out loud. That feeling was further emphasized when he caught the soft look of concern in Bucky's eyes—along with the blooming bruise on his cheek, making it clear that Jim had gotten at least one good hit in before they split apart.

Bucky didn't say anything. His opposite cheek to the injured one was dipped inward slightly, like he was chewing on it, and his expression _seemed _remorseful, even though no apology ever passed his lips. It was like Steve and Bucky were stuck at some kind of impasse—neither one of them willing to say anything on the matter, and cause the other one to feel even more hurt by it.

Instead, Bucky mutely rolled Steve's jeans up to his knees, and began to massage the ointment into his tender muscles.

Steve let out a small sigh as he let Bucky do it. Knowing what he knew of the man now, his insistence that he could to it himself would _probably _get ignored, especially when Bucky's inherent _need _to tend to those he cared for came into play.

Admittedly, as mad as Steve was at Bucky, the more wolfish parts of his brain were definitely enjoying the attention. It seemed to untangle some of the stress that had accumulated in the very pit of his stomach, and every time Bucky looked up at him, it seemed like Bucky could feel it too.

Bucky unbuttoned Steve's shirt and forcefully pushed it down his arms, until Steve merely shook the thing off his wrists, uncaring that Gabe could see them pretty clearly from the kitchen. Bucky was staring at him intently, a fire in his eyes, while he began to massage the ointment into Steve's forearms, upper arms, and then, at last, into his chest.

Bucky started at the top, and rubbed his way across Steve's pectoral muscles, and down towards his abdomen. Steve let out a soft groan, his cock twitching in response to Bucky's delicious touch, and by the thick line he could see in Bucky's jeans, he wasn't the only one getting turned on by this.

There was a sharp _clang_ that sounded from the kitchen, and Steve and Bucky's heads twitched in the direction just long enough to see Gabe making a beeline for the back door, all the food covered or taken off the heat entirely, most likely to keep it from burning or getting cold. The door slammed behind the retreating werewolf, and Bucky returned his gaze to Steve, a wicked smirk playing across his lips as he did so.

Their lips crashed together just shy of bruising. Steve's hands dove for Bucky's belt, and Bucky did the same. He yanked Steve's jeans down to his knees, and Steve broke the kiss in order to flip himself over, and he heard Bucky spit into his hand.

Bucky's finger jammed into Steve only briefly, just long enough to properly stretch him before he retracted his hand, and spit into it again. A moment later Steve let out a very wolfish growl as Bucky pressed into him, so hard and fast that had he still been human, it _definitely _would have hurt.

Bucky pulled back and slammed into Steve again. The forcefulness, rather than unpleasant or painful, was welcome, like they were both working out their frustrations by being as rough as possible.

The act made Steve grunt, but it shifted quickly to a moan when he felt Bucky's tongue begin to tease and nip at the back of his neck.

“_Fuck, _Bucky...” Steve groaned, and Bucky chuckled as he nipped at the shell of his ear.

“That's what you're doing, sweetcheeks.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he curbed the impulse to figure out a way to _smack _his mate from this position, but Bucky thrust into him again, hitting his sweet spot in the process, and his vision went a little hazy as he let out a shout of pleasure, and completely forgot about Bucky's dumb joke.

It took very little time for either of them to reach their peak, and as Bucky's thrusts sped up and became more erratic, Steve reached down and began to stroke himself, just as Bucky shouted and shot his load inside him, and with a few more pulls Steve did the same, letting out a long, filthy moan as his cum stained the upholstery.

The pair sank onto the couch, gasping for breath, and with their pants still stuck somewhere around their knees, Bucky drew Steve into his arms, holding him close for a long, peaceful moment. As they lay there together, Steve couldn't help but think, _God, I've missed this._

“I'm sorry,” Bucky whispered as their cocks went soft, and he pulled out of his mate gently. Steve rolled over to face him, and he was struck immediately by how truly _guilty_ Bucky looked. In that moment, Steve knew that Bucky fully understood how badly he'd acted over the last few days.

Even so, Steve didn't completely know how to respond. He didn't want to tell Bucky,_ it's okay, _because it really wasn't. From his talk with Jim, he knew that part of what he was feeling was from the moon, but not all of it was. Bucky had utterly _failed _at adequately dividing his time between the people who needed him most, and he'd let his protective instincts for the kid cloud everything else in his life.

“Are you?” Steve asked at last, and Bucky nodded his head while he reached out to touch Steve's cheek.

“I am—I _really _am,” Bucky insisted, though his words were still soft and filled with anguish, like he was afraid of speaking at full volume for some reason. “I threw you into this life, and then I abandoned you to take care of Clint. And, yes, he needs me right now, he needs a _lot _of me, but...so do you. I forgot that, and I really shouldn't have.”

“I know that the ki—that Clint needs you,” Steve amended, but Bucky didn't snap at him like he usually did when he referred to Clint as _the kid. _“I'm not that stupid or that selfish—I know that Clint needs you. He's a traumatized three-year-old boy and a new werewolf. That's a lot for some adults, much less a little kid. I do get that you need to make sure he feels safe and everything, but...”

_But I need you too._

_This is my first moon too, and I'm fucking terrified._

Except, the words refused to pass Steve's lips. Now that his weird senses had calmed down a little, he couldn't bring himself to be that selfish, not when the boy needed Bucky so much more than Steve did.

“But you need that too, Steve,” Bucky filled in while he inched forward to offer Steve a gentle kiss. “It's your first moon too, and I'm sure you're nervous about what's going to happen.”

Meekly, Steve nodded.

“I'm gonna do better from now on, I promise,” Bucky insisted, punctuating his words with more kisses while he cradled Steve's cheeks in his hands. “I won't hide away with Clint anymore...I'll bring him into the pack, properly.”

Steve smiled warmly.

“That sounds good to me.”

~*~

Bucky took advantage of the position they found themselves in to massage the ointment into Steve's thighs, then into his arms, ensuring that he could alleviate as much of Steve's physical pain as possible. Admittedly, Steve was pretty sure he could've done his arms with no problems, but it felt nice to be doted on for a change.

All too soon, Steve reluctantly got dressed again, and Gabe, notably relieved, sidled back into the house to finish cooking while Jim _insisted _the two alphas _clean up their mess_.

Clint seemed a little braver to Steve today, and the boy sat on one of the mattresses with a toy bear hugged to his chest and his thumb in his mouth, silently watching the pack go about their business, though his eyes were always quick to return to Bucky, almost like he wanted to confirm that Bucky was still there.

“Does he understand what's going to happen tonight?” Steve asked curiously as they scrubbed down the entire couch and opened up the windows—according to the others, the whole place _reeked _of sex.

“I don't know,” Bucky admitted with a grimace, then dunked his scrub brush back into his pail of soapy water. “I've explained it all to him, but he's been...kinda quiet since we got here.”

“Define _kinda quiet_,” Steve said as he scrubbed hard at his cum stain, all the while ignoring the lazy jibes from the other pack members that were flitting in and out of the cabin to check if Gabe's feast was ready yet. Dum-Dum had come in to help him, while the rest of the pack seemed to be looking for any excuse they could think of to avoid kitchen duty.

“Except for the first day, he hasn't said a word to me since we got back,” Bucky admitted with a wince, and Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“And why haven't you told anyone, Buck? That sounds serious.”

“It is, but it's also kind of...normal? I think?” Bucky grimaced, and shook his head. “I saw it a few times with my old pack. When a cub saw something really traumatic, they'd go quiet for a while while the parents and other pack members tried to help them. It happens sometimes. I remember asking my ma about it once, and she told me the best thing they could do was make the cub feel safe, and remind them that they're okay now. That's what I've been trying to do, but my pre-moon brain kinda...went overboard.”

“Just a little overboard,” Steve teased, but the lighthearted nature of his tone seemed to reassure Bucky that Steve wasn't truly holding it against him any longer, and meant it purely as a joke. As a result, Bucky smiled faintly, and returned to work.

While they washed the couch (and going _way _overboard, in Steve's opinion), Steve couldn't help but marvel at how different it would have been if Clint had somehow lived, and wound up with a human family. If his own upbringing was any indication, most likely the father figure would shout at Clint until he started to talk again, or think something was _wrong _with him for not talking, and send him off to an asylum, and have the people there deal with him.

Steve didn't know if that sort of thing would actually help Clint get back to talking quicker. Regardless, Steve didn't exactly feel like it was a great idea to do that to such a small boy—what if they hurt him?

And yet, according to Bucky, all of this not-talking stuff was _normal, _and to fix it, all they had to do was be nice to him.

He'd never even heard of that before.

“Hey, perverted, depraved alphas who would rather defile our furniture than use their bedroom like a civilised creature!” Gabe called with a grin, making both Steve and Bucky look up at the same time. “Come eat. The moon will rise soon.”

Bucky shook his head with visible amusement as he abandoned the pail of water in order to scoop Clint up with one arm. Steve expected Bucky to leave him behind in favour of carrying Clint over to the table, but to his surprise Bucky paused, and when Steve glanced back up from his own pail of water, he saw Bucky holding out his free hand to him.

“C'mon, Steve,” Bucky said with a warm smile. “We can finish scrubbing later.”

With what Steve was certain was a dopey smile spread across his face, he got up and took Bucky's hand, and together they headed to the table.


	19. Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for December 6th. This is a little on the short side, but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless :)
> 
> **Trigger Warning: Self-Harm, Mild Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Ideation**

Chapter Nineteen – Full Moon

Admittedly, Steve wasn't all that hungry, but Bucky kept piling his plate high and practically force-fed him every bite, even as Steve did little more than pick at his food instead of actually eating it.

Even so, Steve was glad for the attention Bucky was paying him more than anything else. Little Clint sat on his own chair for the first time, nestled between the alpha pair and seeming more relaxed than Steve could ever recall seeing him before, while the boy ate enough for a full-grown adult. He smiled faintly whenever Bucky patted his hair or asked him if he wanted more, and kept leaning into Steve's side, like something about him the kid found comforting, even though he had yet to speak a word to anyone.

Jim, as always, was a little more helpful, and patiently explained to Steve that he would need the extra food tonight for the change, and it would hurt less the more he ate.

Steve didn't really understand how that all worked, but by the same token, if it meant the change would hurt less, he'd do it, and after that he ate without protest, though his appetite was still practically non-existent.

After everyone finished eating, they set up a sort of assembly line in the kitchen, in order to quickly clean up the dishes from their meal. This Steve didn't need to ask about, as it was obvious they wanted everything done before sunset. Steve and Bucky weren't asked to help, and instead they were banished to the living room, where they were then firmly instructed to finish cleaning up _their mess._

In Steve's opinion, he wasn't sure what else the others wanted them to do. The couch was drenched from how much he and Bucky had scrubbed it, and the living room was positively frigid from the still-open windows.

Instead, Steve shut the windows and wrapped a blanket around little Clint, who had once again taken up residence on one of the mattresses.

“Don't want you to catch a cold, huh?” Steve whispered to the boy, even as Clint stared up at him blankly, his mouth open a little in an expression of surprise.

Steve kept smiling, even as he straightened up to go back to some sort of busywork that the others could interpret as cleaning, even as he felt a modicum of surprise that Bucky didn't immediately rush over to Clint to make sure the blanket wasn't too tight or something.

When Steve looked around to see where his mate had gotten to, he spotted Bucky standing by one of the closed windows, and he was regarding Steve with a proud smile.

In spite of the commands of the others (ironic, considering Steve and Bucky were supposed to be the leaders of the pack), Steve wandered outside with Bucky and little Clint, and together they watched the sun inch its way across the horizon. Steve casually asked Clint if he wanted to go play, but he responded by tucking himself more securely into Bucky's side. Bucky gave Steve a bit of a hard look, like he should feel _bad _for even suggesting Clint go anywhere without them, and Steve felt a weird twist in his gut, the same feeling he'd felt every time Bucky sided with Clint instead of him.

Steve ignored it for the time being. He had enough on his plate at the moment without indulging his mind's weird overreactions to Bucky paying Clint even the smallest bit of attention over him.

“It'll be soon,” Bucky announced suddenly, his voice a little breathy, and the sound of him seemed to jar Steve out of his confusing thoughts. When he looked up, he noticed that the sun was now little more than a soft glow on the horizon. The others had finally joined them outside, but unlike Steve and Bucky, who were still sitting on the stoop, the pack had begun to strip off their clothes and place them in neat piles near the doorstep where they weren't as likely to get wet overnight.

“We need to get our clothes off,” Bucky announced as he stood up and stretched. “If we don't, we'll get all tangled up in them.”

Clint hopped down off the stoop obediently, and began to peel off his clothes, dropping them in the dirt without a care, and Steve chuckled softly as he reached out to pick up the boy's clothes. Clint didn't seem to notice, too busy wiggling his way out of his garments, though he hit a bit of a snag when it came time to peel off his shirt, and got himself stuck.

While Steve set aside Clint's discarded clothes, Bucky got up to untangle the youngster. Once he was free, staring up at Bucky with a curious look on his face, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now that he was naked, but Bucky put him off by telling him to _just wait _while Bucky himself began to strip, and Steve, feeling a little bit self-conscious, did the same.

Steve wasn't stupid enough to think he had anything to be ashamed of—at least, not anymore—but it still gave him an uneasy feeling to strip in front of all these muscular men.

Which was completely stupid, Steve knew that, and he had to shake his head more than once in an attempt to dismiss the ridiculous thoughts while he stared determinedly down at himself, just to have that reminder that he wasn't that skinny kid from Brooklyn anymore.

If Bucky noticed Steve's inner conflict, he didn't say anything. After he'd finished helping Clint and undressed himself, Bucky took Clint's hand and gently guided him over to Steve, their feet making a distinctive _squish, squish, squish _sound in the muddy, rain-soaked ground as they walked.

“Now, when the moon rises, don't get scared,” Bucky said, moving his gaze from Steve to Clint and back again, like he was trying to include both of them in the conversation at once. “You'll want to tense up as you wait for the change to come, but try not to. It will hurt less if you relax and let it happen, okay? And I'll be here with _both of you_ for the entire thing. I promise I'm not going anywhere.”

Clint responded by opening his arms like he was asking for his hug, his blue eyes wide and pleading, and Bucky chuckled as he crouched down to embrace the little boy, then turned to Steve and kissed him tenderly.

“It'll be all right, Steve, I promise,” Bucky whispered softly as he momentarily pulled his hand from Steve's in order to touch his cheek, and in that same breath Steve felt the moonlight wash over his exposed skin, and he let out a moan of pain as his knees began to buckle.

Bucky caught him deftly and guided Steve to the ground. Steve dug his fingers into the dirt as he gasped, his body feeling like he'd suddenly come over with an impossibly high fever, while all his muscles and limbs trembled with pain. Next to him, little Clint didn't seem to be faring much better. He was screaming and crying, and Bucky was rubbing Steve and Clint's backs, like he was trying to comfort both of them at the same time.

“It's...it's okay,” Bucky choked out past clenched teeth, like he was trying to fight his own change. “Just let go. Let the change come. I know it's hard, but you can do it.”

Steve let out a long moan of pain, but to his surprise, it tapered into a wolfish howl as he felt the change take hold of him at last.

It was pain beyond pain—too much to even quantify; it was like someone had dropped a mountain on him, and crushed him into nothing. He could feel his bones break and reform. His skin tore and reshaped itself into a much larger shape. White fur sprouted from every follicle, making his skin itch and burn. A horrible pressure-pain engulfed his head as his face extended into a snout, and pointed wolf teeth burst from his gums.

When it was all over, Steve lay in the soil and panted hard, not quite sure if he was even _able _to move after all that. When he looked around with his wolf eyes, the colours were muted, but it felt _normal. _With his wolf mind fully in control, he had no ability to compare how he was to his human form. He just felt like a wolf that needed a moment to recover from the shock of the change.

A wet nose nudged at Steve's cheek, and he looked up to see a black wolf with a white foreleg standing over him. He was whimpering, and his stormy grey eyes bore a look of deep concern.

Steve stood up on shaky limbs, feeling very much like a newborn foal, and startled himself when he stood a head taller than his alpha without even trying. Steve knew there was something surprising about that, but he couldn't remember _what _or _why_, exactly, that should even be a surprise.

Steve's cub mirrored him, standing up on uncertain, wobbly limbs. He was the colour of coffee with too much cream—a soft, muted brown with flecks of black throughout his coat. He lifted his head high and sniffed the air, then let out a little yip of approval, as though he decided that he was happy about something, though Steve didn't know what.

The alpha wagged his tail as he sniffed along Steve's body, and Steve pawed at the ground as he waited for the alpha to finish his inspection to ensure that Steve was all right. Once he was satisfied that Steve was unhurt from his first change, he turned to the cub and did the same.

Around him, the other pack wolves stood up and shook themselves out, like the change was nothing more than some kind of annoying insect that they wanted to get off their fur. The five of them were vastly different, and their names came to Steve easily as he looked from one wolf to the next.

There was a large grey wolf—Dum-Dum. He was the same size as Bucky was, though his fur seemed thicker, or more fluffy, whereas Bucky's was more sleek. There was a reddish brown wolf—Gabe. He looked around at the pack with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like the expression one might see on a perpetually happy golden retriever. There were two brown wolves, Jacques and Morita, and a black wolf—Jim.

Jim and Dum-Dum in particular _felt _different to Steve than the others in the pack. It wasn't knowledge in the strictest sense of the word, but rather an aura—a feeling.

He knew immediately that Dum-Dum was the pack's beta wolf—the second in command. In contrast, Jim was the omega—the weakest.

This was further evidenced by the way the pack gathered to greet Steve as their new pack alpha; Dum-Dum was in the lead, followed by Jacques, Gabe, and Morita, then Jim was at the very back.

Steve scented each wolf, circling them and confirming that they were _his pack, _while Bucky stood back and watched Steve do it.

Once the pack had welcomed Steve, they turned their attention to the cub. Bucky curled back his lip in warning, and the huge wolves responded by dropping to their bellies and tilting their heads to the side to show their necks in a motion of submission. Then, once Bucky had relaxed his protective stance a little, the wolves wiggled forwards on their stomachs to greet the cub. In contrast to Bucky, Clint's ears were pricked with curiosity as he gazed at the huge wolves worming their way across the muddy ground to greet him, and their tongues would poke out to offer Clint a tiny lick in welcome.

Clint, well beyond his human worries, leapt at the huge wolves in play, and Bucky eased back to watch, his gazed fixed firmly upon his pack as though he was making sure that none of them played too hard and hurt the cub by accident.

Steve sat there, waiting for Bucky to shift his attention back to him, but all his focus was fixed on the cub. Steve whined, hoping that might garner him some attention, but Bucky didn't seem to hear him, and Steve's ears drooped a little in disappointment.

Hoping that perhaps his mate had not heard him over the noise, Steve whined again, and at the same moment Bucky's ears perked up, though the reaction was not for Steve.

Steve looked, and saw that Jim had pinned little Clint on his back. The cub's mouth was wide open, tongue lolling out of the side, and his legs were flailing excitedly.

Perhaps if Steve had been more in-tune with his wolf instincts he may have recognized Jim and Clint's posture as purely _play_, but it was Steve's first full moon. He didn't know enough about wolfish mannerisms yet, and all he could see before him was an adult wolf threatening _his _cub.

With a fierce snarl Steve dove into the fray, shouldering everyone out of the way until he came to Jim, and sank his teeth into the skinny wolf's throat as he dragged him away from little Clint.

Steve, so focused on 'saving' his cub, hadn't noticed the black wolf at his back, and he let out a high yelp of shock and alarm as Bucky barrelled into him, forcing him to let go of Jim, and he staggered out of the group of werewolves.

Steve shook himself, then turned to see if Bucky was still there, but to his surprise Bucky wasn't even _looking _at him, and was instead focused on Jim and Clint, checking to make sure _they _were okay.

The feeling of being ignored quickly gave way to a deep, horrible sensation of _abandonment. _

There was a hollow pit in Steve's belly that should have been filled by his instincts to run and hunt and chase with his mate by his side, and yet, his mate had hardly passed him a glance. Steve whined again, but Alpha wouldn't look at him.

Alpha had _forgotten_ him.

Head bowed, Steve walked away from the pack. He stopped at the border of trees, and looked back to the pack, whining again, but Alpha was still busy with his cub.

Steve laid down in the dirt with a soft, despondent huff.

He lay there, watching the pack run and play, and each of his plaintive whines was ignored, like he couldn't be heard.

Thoughtlessly, Steve bit down on his foreleg. The sting of pain seemed to calm the frenetic parts of his mind, and in response he bit down _harder._

Steve bit and chewed until the flesh split, and the sharp tang of blood rent the air. The pack ran without him, playing with the cub, while Steve gnawed at his skin, licking at his muzzle as it spattered with his own blood, then moved on to his other foreleg when the skin on the first one was too gnarled to give him even a passing moment of peace any longer.

Steve spent the night light that, biting desperately at himself, blood pooling under his limbs, until the moon set, and exhausted, Steve fell asleep.

~*~

Steve didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up again it was day, and he found himself in a very familiar, if confusing, position.

He was in bed, bundled up in more layers than was probably needed, and he could feel stiff, uncomfortable bandages wound around both his forearms, as well as his ankles. Little Clint was curled up into his side like a cat who wanted to console its owner, and bracketing him was Bucky, who had his arms wrapped around Steve's middle in something close to a vice grip.

Steve was utterly bewildered. His brain was a fog, and though he recalled the pain of his wolf transformation the night before, beyond that...he couldn't remember anything.

_Something must have happened though, _Steve thought as he stared down at himself. _Did we get attacked? Did _I _get attacked?_

Steve was distracted from his thoughts as Bucky began to stir next to him, and Steve turned to watch him slowly wake up, yawning widely before he smiled at Steve, though Steve noted it was a sad sort of smile.

“Good morning, Steve,” Bucky murmured before he kissed him gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused, mostly,” he admitted, his voice kept at a careful whisper so that he wouldn't wake Clint up. “What the hell happened to me?”

“Our bond...it's, um...it's been...fractured,” Bucky explained with a grimace, and a distinct look of guilt in his eyes. “It's my fault, Steve, I...Sweet Moon, I'm _so _sorry, I never meant for this to happen.”

“Whoa, hey, slow down,” Steve whispered as he tried to lift his hand to touch Bucky's cheek, but the action made his wrist lance with pain, and he grimaced. “Start from the beginning and explain it to me, all right? Whatever this is, I'm sure we can fix it.”

Bucky didn't look nearly as hopeful, but nodded, pausing to gently kiss each of Steve's forearms before he embraced Steve and hugged him close before he began to whisper in Steve's ear.

“True Mates like us...our relationship is very delicate, especially at the beginning. The...I guess you could call it _magic_ that governs our bond...it takes time to settle, especially if it's between two werewolves, instead of a werewolf and a human, or something like that. Anything that distracts us from our union can upset the balance and it will cause the magic to believe that we are separating, but since we are True, it is emotionally devastating to the one who has not been distracted, so to speak, and it can come out of our wolf forms in dangerous ways, often starting with...self-harm.”

Bucky gazed down at Steve's bandaged arms pointedly, and in that instance, it felt almost like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“I...I did this to _myself?_” Steve murmured, and Bucky nodded sadly.

“It starts with self-harm, then it grows into harming the pack. As a wolf, you might attack others in your anguish, then it would end in my wolf driving you off to protect the others. No one knows what happens after that, but some wolves believe that it ends in...”

Bucky trailed off, and his eyes filmed over with tears. He took a shuddering breath, but he did not finish his statement. Even so, Steve could imagine just what Bucky had wanted to say.

_It ends in death._

“How do we fix this, Bucky?” Steve asked as he gazed at his alpha, his _lover. _He didn't want this to get worse, they needed to fix it _now._

“The only way I know how to fix it is to reaffirm our bond,” Bucky explained gently as he stroked Steve's cheek reverently, even as tears dripped down his cheeks, like his anguish at all of this could no longer be contained. “Leave the pack temporarily, and just be together. I just...I'm worried about Clint. He's still not comfortable with the others, and I don't want to hurt him by leaving.”

“_No go,”_ a little voice said from Steve's other side, and he turned his head to see little Clint sitting up slightly, before he crawled over Steve in order to tuck himself firmly between the two adults.

“No go,” he said again, but amazingly, he wasn't looking at Bucky as he said it.

He was looking at _Steve._

“You like Mama. You stay. Be Mama,” Clint said as he patted Steve's cheeks with both of his little hands. He was so confident in his words, and he was staring at Steve with such..._conviction._ Like his silence was no longer needed when Steve was the one who needed words of encouragement more than anything else.

“Clint, I don't know,” Bucky murmured, his brow furrowed with worry as he rubbed the little boy's back, even as Clint kept his gaze fixed, hawklike, on Steve. “We might need to go away just for a little while, but we'll come back.”

“_No!” _Clint cried firmly. “Steve _stay._”

“Okay, okay, I'll stay,” Steve said hastily, not overly keen to upset the kid any more, while he tried to rationalize why he saw Steve as a _mother_.

_Maybe that's a worry for later,_ Steve thought as together he and Bucky cradled the youngster, and tried to calm him down, but Clint seemed to be inconsolable, and wept in Steve's arms until, at last, he cried himself to sleep.

“We can reaffirm our bond here, can't we?” Steve murmured to Bucky a little while later, after he was certain that Clint was in a deep sleep. He murmured the words after Bucky returned from going to get Steve something to eat, along with some ointment for his injuries.

“Probably not,” Bucky replied with a soft sigh as he gently peeled the bandages off Steve's right forearm, and he grimaced at the sight of it. It looked like Steve had shoved his arms into a meat grinder. “There's too many distractions here, and the whole point of reaffirming a bond is to focus on each other.”

Bucky dipped a cotton ball partway into the ointment, and then used it to dab the medicine onto Steve's injuries. Steve winced when the ointment stung like a bad bee sting, and he bit his lip in order to keep quiet and not startle little Clint.

“What can we do?” Steve asked after Bucky had finished tending to his arms, and moved on to his ankles. “How can we reaffirm our bond if there's so much keeping us here?”

Bucky paused in unwrapping Steve's ankles, which were in even worse shape than his wrists had been, and he let out a long, sad sigh.

“Oh, Steve...I wish I knew.”


	20. Intimate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay, guys, Festivus prep sucked up all my writing time. Next update is scheduled for December 20th. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty – Intimate

It had been a long, painful month for Steve.

The injuries on his wrists and ankles had been extensive, to the point where he struggled to walk or feed himself without the limbs giving out and causing him to drop whatever he was trying to eat. Bucky took the helm on tending to Steve immediately, very much like when he'd first found him, and he snapped at anyone who tried to help.

Except for Clint, that is.

Clint, to his credit, seemed more than eager to help Bucky. Unfortunately, his method for feeding Steve was to slap his morning bowl of oatmeal in his face like a cream pie, and after that Bucky had gently advised that Clint let Bucky feed Steve from then on.

At the very least, it was nice to see Clint starting to open up, even if it was only to Steve and Bucky. They were working on encouraging Clint to talk with the rest of the pack, but if they pushed too hard, Clint would revert back to a baby-like sort of dialogue, making it clear that they needed to back off a little, and just let him get used to the rest of the pack naturally.

All the while, the notion of _reaffirming their bond_ hung in the background like some kind of monster. Jim had said he might have a solution, but what that was he wouldn't say, even as he continued to have quiet discussions with Bucky whenever Steve was resting.

Instead, Steve resigned himself to another few weeks in bed until his limbs had gotten a little better.

Or, at least better enough to walk around on his own; though both his ankles still ached like he'd been recovering from a bad sprain whenever he tried to hobble anywhere in the cabin.

However, the second full moon would not wait for him to recover. Like with the first one, Steve didn't remember much of it, but he woke up in a pile of naked bodies around sunrise, spring dew clinging to their skin and making them all shiver.

The turning, at least, seemed to have sped along Steve's healing instead of hindering it in some way, and he could at least move around on his own now with only the faintest twinge of pain, and the gnarled, ugly scars were the only reminder of what he'd done to himself.

Bucky appeared to be fixated on these scars. He would caress and kiss them gently whenever they were alone together, almost like Bucky was trying without words to apologize to Steve for causing all this.

Admittedly, Steve knew that he probably _should _be more mad at Bucky for all this, but he never was. Yes, he did start all this, but his attentiveness lately had led to Steve _not _hurting himself during his second full moon, which had to account for something.

It was clear that Bucky knew he had done wrong, and he was trying so hard to fix everything and be what he needed to be for everyone in the pack—not just Steve. As a result, the poor alpha was _exhausted._

_~*~_

Two nights after that second full moon, Steve was _still _in bed.

He didn't think that he needed to be, but a certain _someone _wasn't letting him get up.

“No get up,” Clint said firmly, his little arms crossed as he stood in front of the door with his legs spread in a wide stance, like he thought he was big enough to intimidate Steve into staying put. “Bucky say Steve needs lots of sleeping. You stay.”

“Even if I feel fine?” Steve joked as he sat up in bed and watched the tot. His teasing tone didn't seem to help though, as Clint wouldn't move.

“No. More sleep for Steve.”

“Okay, okay, I'm staying in bed,” Steve said with a long, dramatic sigh as he fell back against the mattress, making the springs creak, and Clint let out a little giggle as he dropped his arms and scampered over to the bed, hopping in and cuddling up with Steve with a big sweet smile on his face.

“You're always warm, like a blanket,” Clint said, and Steve chuckled as he hugged the boy close.

“Yeah? And what if I lie on you?” Steve asked, his question making Clint giggle again.

“You'd _squish _me, Steve!”

“_Squishhhh!_” Steve cried out as he rolled over, lying partially on top of Clint, and the act causing him to shriek with delight, laughing so hard that tears were coming to his eyes as he squirmed and flailed, the sound predictably rousing alarm bells for their alpha male, who came barrelling into the room with a look of alarm on his face, which softened to an amused smile when he spotted what his cub and mate were up to.

“What are you two mooks doing?” Bucky demanded from the door, causing both Steve and Clint to look up and grin at him.

“Steve is squishing me,” Clint replied, his blasé tone of voice making it sound like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, and it caused Steve to start snickering.

“And it's fun, being squished?” Bucky asked as he meandered farther into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for Steve first, and Steve let out a soft groan of pleasure as Bucky carded his fingers through his hair. It felt so nice to be touched by his mate, and it seemed to be happening more and more often lately, like Bucky was trying to reassure, if not reaffirm their bond when they could do so little with Clint around.

“It's _really _fun!” Clint said, his voice drawing Steve out of his daze, and he glanced down to Clint with a small smile. “You should try being squished, Bucky.”

“Oh, that's the plan,” Bucky replied with a coy smile, the sort of expression that made Steve think that Bucky wasn't talking about something suitable for Clint's eyes.

“_Behave,_” Steve said in response, and Bucky's lascivious grin only widened.

Oh, yes, it was _clear _that Bucky had a plan.

~*~

They waited until it was time for Clint's afternoon nap to talk, coaxing him to sleep with warmed milk mixed with honey, and some sort of spiced cookies that Jim had made specifically for Clint.

In terms of the rest of the pack, Clint was still shy. He was a little more open with Dum-Dum lately, perhaps considering that he'd been with Bucky on the day of his rescue, but at the very least he was able to manage one or two-word responses when the pack spoke to him, which Steve thought was a massive improvement.

“So, do you have an idea how to fix...this?” Steve prompted as they sat together on the stoop and watched the rest of the pack work. Most of the frames for the extra rooms had been completed, and they had just been working on insulating them before they finally knocked in the walls that would properly connect them to the rest of the cabin. Steve gestured between himself and Bucky significantly as he spoke, and Bucky nodded to indicate that he understood.

“There's only so much to do when Clint is still so...needy,” Bucky admitted with a wince, and he gazed at Steve apologetically. “But the longer we put it off, the more unstable it can become. I don't want to do that to you, Steve—I _need _you here and well, and _safe_. I won't do anything to make your pain worse.”

“But you said...wasn't I better this moon?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded a little.

“Better is a bit of a stretch, but you weren't hurting yourself,” Bucky replied as he closed both hands around one of Steve's, and the callused thumbs compulsively brushed over the scars at his wrist. “I think you were just...tired. Clint and I wouldn't leave your side, though.”

“I wish I could remember it,” Steve muttered bitterly, and Bucky offered him a tentative smile.

“It takes time, Steve,” Bucky reassured him as he offered the hand he held a gentle squeeze. “Some turned wolves take six moons to really recall what they see through their wolf eyes. You're strong, you'll get there in time.”

“I guess there's no way to rush it, huh?” Steve joked, expecting Bucky to laugh, or maybe give him a sympathetic smile, but instead his eyes widened ever so slightly, like he'd just gotten an idea.

~*~

Unfortunately for Steve, Bucky's so-called _idea _was far less sexy than he'd been hoping for.

From what Steve had been told, _reaffirming their bond _involved something intimate, something _sexual_.

This just felt..._stupid. _

“It's _not _stupid, Steve,” Bucky said crossly, and he folded his arms across his chest in annoyance at Steve's comment. “It's another way to help reaffirm our bond. Choosing to help someone access their wolf outside the moon is a _very _personal thing. It's even more personal when it's a True Mates pair like us.”

“Why is it so personal?” Steve asked curiously as he straightened up, and Bucky smiled at him almost approvingly, like he was happy that Steve was even asking.

“I am helping you to access a deep, untouched part of yourself,” Bucky explained as he stepped forward and wound his arms securely around Steve's waist. Steve felt his heart flutter as he returned the expression before he, too, wrapped his arms around Bucky's middle, and offered him a gentle squeeze that made Bucky chuckle softly. “To reach it, you really need to trust the person who is helping you. No wolf can learn to change outside the moon on their own. I need to bring it out before you're ever able to do it by yourself. It's _definitely _something that would help to bring us closer together, and help us fix our bond.”

“Will I...”

Steve hesitated, even as Bucky continued to stare at him, a soft smile on his face, looking so _loving_, like Steve was the only person in the world. He didn't interrupt, but continued to gaze at Steve, waiting for him to finish his thought.

“Um...will I remember it this time?” Steve asked hesitantly, feeling suddenly self-conscious and worried that he might offend Bucky with the wrong word. From the sound of it, this _learning to change _thing was pretty important in werewolf culture, and Steve didn't want to offend his mate by accident.

In response, Bucky smiled at him faintly. It was barely the faintest twitch in the corners of his lips, and yet, somehow, Steve just _knew _that it was expression of warm, unconditional love.

This was cemented in Steve's mind when Bucky reached up to curl one hand around the back of Steve's neck, and he drew him into a kiss.

“Yes, Steve,” Bucky whispered against Steve's lips, “you will remember _all _of it.”

Together, they began trying to 'call out Steve's wolf'.

It felt very strange to Steve, but he didn't want to hurt Bucky's feelings by saying so. They knelt together, naked under the moon, Bucky's fingers resting against Steve's temple, and Bucky's head was bowed, seemingly in prayer, while Steve had been instructed to look up and stare at the waning moon.

“Clear your mind, Steve,” Bucky reminded him after a few moments of silence, and Steve let out a soft huff.

“I _am _clearing it.”

“No you're not, you're thinking about how strange this all feels to you.”

“How did you _know_ that?” Steve demanded as he jolted back from Bucky and stared at him in wonder, while Bucky looked up and blinked at him.

“I'm trying to call out your wolf by looking through that thick noggin' of yours,” Bucky retorted as he tapped a finger against Steve's forehead for emphasis. “I can't see memories or anything, but if you think of something, I can hear it.”

“Werewolves can _read minds?_” Steve asked incredulously, his eyes widening, but it shifted to confusion when Bucky let out a soft snort of amusement.

“Not usually, no,” Bucky replied with a kind smile, but Steve felt as though it was more like Bucky was trying not to laugh again. “This is..._special.”_

“Well, then I'll do my best to not think of anything,” Steve offered, and Bucky smiled at him approvingly.

“All right,” Bucky whispered as Steve tilted his head back, and gazed up at the moon, “let's try this again...”

For what felt like hours, they sat there in the soft, spring grass.

Steve felt like he should have been shivering. Despite the fact that he _knew _that it was cold out, he couldn't feel it. It was hard to _not _think about it, especially when Bucky had to remind him more than once to keep his mind _clear. _

It amazed Steve just how hard it was to truly think about nothing. Passing thoughts kept wanting to drift through his mind, and he was starting to get sleepy, fighting the yawns as he tried to keep his focus on the moon, and not how his legs were falling asleep due to his kneeling position, or how his eyelids were drooping, despite all his efforts to stop them.

It was so long in fact that Steve was genuinely tempted to ask Bucky if they could try again tomorrow, when all of a sudden Bucky whispered, “_there.”_

Steve opened his mouth to ask what was _there, _but in the same breath he felt an odd tugging sensation in the middle of his chest, like a feeling of joy, or arousal, or love.

The change overwhelmed him, but unlike how it felt during the full moons, when it seemed to take so long, and hurt so badly, this time it seemed as though time had sped up, his body morphing through the change so rapidly that Steve felt like he didn't even have time to really dwell on that familiar, agonizing pain before he stood on all fours, in wolf form.

Steve tried to speak, but it came out as a loud bark, and Bucky chuckled warmly as he said, “see, Steve? You did it.”

Steve looked down at himself, walking in a tight circle as he tried to look at his wolf form and commit it to memory, even as Bucky chuckled warmly at Steve's actions, before Steve heard a distinctive crunching sound, and when he turned back to Bucky, he saw himself looking at a familiar black wolf with a mottled white foreleg.

Bucky bowed forward, slapping his forepaws hard against the ground, his rear high in the air. His tail wagged, and his mouth hung open in a big canine smile.

Even without his wolf mind present, it didn't take a genius to work out that Bucky's posture meant only one thing.

_Play with me._

Steve didn't even pause to think about it before they were racing off towards the woods side by side, the hard-packed dirt thundering under their paws as they jumped at each other, nipping and biting at the scruffs of their necks, passing dark trees and tumbling over rocks, barking excitedly as they moved, until Steve caught Bucky, and together they toppled down a short incline in a mess of white and black fur.

They twisted and turned over rock and grass, and Steve felt that telltale shifting of flesh and bone as they continued to fall, until they came to a stop in a bed of grass and young spring flowers, with Bucky on his back, and Steve astride him.

“Caught you,” Steve whispered, only dimly aware that they'd both changed back, but in the moment it didn't seem to matter so much, especially when Bucky cradled Steve's cheeks in his hands before he dragged him into a kiss.

Steve kissed his alpha male back, groaning into the kiss, and finding himself mildly overwhelmed at how _good _it felt. Using one hand to keep himself balanced, the other one entangled itself into Bucky's hair, nails scratching gently across his scalp and making his mate groan. He arched his hips up, and Steve could feel that he was half-hard already.

“Want me to take you this time, my Alpha?” Steve purred, and Bucky nodded.

“Take me, Alpha Mate,” Bucky whispered in response, and Steve nearly moaned aloud at the sound of it.

Their lips came together again. In spite of how much they both _needed _some kind of release, the kiss was gentle and searching, like the two lovers were trying to find each other again.

It was needed, Steve realised, to enter into this unhurriedly, to _not _rush their lovemaking—to find each other again, and try to reclaim what had been lost.

Steve's lips deviated from Bucky's, trailing across his stubbled jaw and down the side of his neck, his entire body seeming to warm with pride at the blissful little sigh the alpha let out, pleased that it had been _him _to cause Bucky to make such a sound.

Steve used his lips to bite at Bucky's caramel flesh, darkened by the sun, even so early in the season. He sucked at spots along Bucky's neck, leaving purple marks in his wake, each one making the alpha gasp and mewl like a bitch in heat.

Pleased with the reaction, Steve moved his free hand from Bucky's hair and down his side, stopping only when Steve was cupping the underside of Bucky's thigh, and he offered it a small squeeze, which caused Bucky's whole body to jerk, like Steve had hit a particularly sensitive spot. The downy hairs upon his leg tickled Steve's palm, though he had little time to really enjoy the feeling as Bucky once again grabbed Steve's face, and dragged him into another demanding kiss.

Using what felt like precious little effort, Bucky flipped them both over so that Steve was lying flat on his back, which, truthfully, he didn't mind so much—_especially _if Bucky kept kissing him like that.

Bucky reached down for one of Steve's hands while he sat astride his alpha mate, breaking the kiss to draw Steve's index finger into his mouth, and he sucked on it provocatively.

Steve groaned, arching his back almost in a silent plea, but Bucky pointedly ignored the action, as though he'd purposely forgotten that this would be Steve's first time topping since his change.

Based on his new size, Steve was pretty sure that Bucky would enjoy it, but by the same token, Bucky seemed to be perfectly happy sucking on Steve's fingers, in spite of the fact that there was a delectable (and, admittedly, _huge) _cock within arm's reach.

That is, until Bucky had at last seemed to get tired of worshipping Steve's fingers, and as he guided Steve's hand around to Bucky's ass, he suddenly understood what all the sucking had been about.

His index and middle fingers probed at Bucky's entrance, and the alpha male let out a long, blissful sigh. His head tilted back, and Bucky's glorious, muscular body seemed to shine in the dappled moonlight. As Steve slowly and carefully slid his fingers inside, he smiled broadly when Bucky let out a soft little moan, indicating that Steve was doing his job well.

Emboldened, Steve dipped his fingers in deeper, spacing them apart slowly in order to stretch and prepare his alpha, and Bucky groaned, the brunet's cock visibly twitching in response to Steve's touch.

“Feel good, my Alpha?” Steve whispered, and Bucky nodded, his eyes shut as he parted his lips a little in a pleasant sigh, while he pressed back more insistently on Steve's fingers.

“So good, Alpha Mate.”

Steve felt himself warm with pride at the title, his free hand sliding up from Bucky's hip to his neck, seemingly drawing Bucky out of his blissful state as he coaxed his alpha into another toe-curling, mind-numbing kiss.

Bucky moaned into it, and again Steve felt that small burst of pride. As they kissed, Bucky reached back and coaxed Steve's fingers out of his ass, and Steve got the message as he dropped his hand to his own cock, and lined himself up.

Bucky sank down onto his cock with a soft, appreciative groan. Steve felt awash in a warmth he couldn't quite place. It made him dizzy, but strangely it was a good sort of dizzy, if there was such a thing. He arched his hips up, sinking deeper into Bucky's sweet warmth, and his alpha hissed in appreciation.

Bucky reluctantly broke their kiss, straightening up as he began to bounce in Steve's lap, grunting with each thrust, while Steve gripped tightly to Bucky's hips, most likely hard enough to bruise. However, Bucky didn't seem to mind, crying out with pleasure as he clenched around Steve's cock deliciously, chasing his own orgasm with seemingly no regard for Steve's pleasure—not that he cared. Witnessing Bucky look so blissful was a true gift, and he seemed to know _exactly _how to position himself to send Steve to some kind of sensual heaven.

Many times, Bucky tried to bow forward in order to kiss Steve, but it seemed impossible to both kiss _and _maintain his momentum, and Steve chuckled warmly at how put-out Bucky seemed by this, while Bucky laughed and bounced in Steve's lap harder, panting while he muttered something that Steve didn't catch.

It really didn't matter much, as far as Steve was concerned. Feeling Bucky like this was nothing short of _glorious, _and Steve was happy to make it last as long as possible—in particular when he had no idea when they'd get another moment alone together.

It was Steve who found his release first, letting out a shout as he arched upwards, and Bucky groaned, clenching around him while his hand fell to his own cock, and he stroked himself to completion. His cum splattered upon Steve's chest in a few heavy drops, but that didn't seem to deter Bucky from falling bodily on top of Steve with a long, drawn-out sigh.

“_That _was good,” Bucky murmured, and Steve chuckled softly.

“You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself,” Steve remarked, and grinned when Bucky swatted his chest lightly.

“But was it good for you?” Bucky asked as he shifted off Steve's softening cock, and laid down on top of him like Steve was some kind of mattress, making it pretty clear Bucky had no plans to move any time soon.

“Pretty good,” Steve replied, “I—”

“_Pretty _good?” Bucky interrupted, and curved an eyebrow at Steve, making him laugh. “And exactly _where _did I go wrong with that frankly _glorious _romp, my dear mate?”

“No, it wasn't you,” Steve said with a laugh, even as Bucky continued to gaze at him dubiously. “I just...I got a few dizzy spells, so it made it a little hard to enjoy the whole thing, you know?”

“Oh, I see,” Bucky replied, and to Steve's surprise his admission didn't send Bucky spiralling into a state of over-mothering for Steve, but instead he looked especially happy about something. “And did these dizzy spells happen whenever we were especially close, or when you felt happy about us being together?”

“Yeah, actually,” Steve replied, his brow knitting together as he thought about it. “How did you know that? Does it mean something?”

“I can only mean one thing, Steve,” Bucky murmured as he leant in to peck Steve's lips lightly, “our bond is finally starting to heal.”


	21. The Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Holidays, everyone! This will be the last update for a little while as I take a much-needed break over the hols. Next update is scheduled for January 17th. If you need more content from me between now and then, feel free to check out my Christmas-themed oneshot, Christmas Cookies!

Chapter Twenty-One – The Visitor

As Spring began to fade into Summer, Steve found that he could not recall a time where he'd _ever _been happier.

Or _busier._

With the Summer now in full swing, the pack's life had shifted into an endless cycle of planting seeds, expanding the garden with the reserved seeds they had found in the cabin, foraging for herbs, roots, nuts, and berries, and hunting.

Along with that, there was still the construction work going on. Now that it was warm enough to knock down walls without it getting too cold overnight, they did so with a renewed sense of vigour, and the tiny cabin that Steve had stumbled across that past winter had finally began to grow.

The first bedroom to be completed was little Clint's. They moved his child-sized bed into it, along with all his other clothes and toys that Bucky and Dum-Dum had initially brought with them. Amazingly, Clint moved into his new room with very little fuss, though it wasn't uncommon for him to crawl into bed with Steve and Bucky in the wee hours of the morning, seeking some comfort.

The remaining three bedrooms were still being built, and the other pack members had flipped for it to see who would get their own room and who would have to share, and Jim was happy to discover that he would be the lucky recipient of his _own_ bedroom.

Though the others bitched and moaned about it, Steve didn't think they actually minded so much. He was quickly learning that werewolves were deeply social no matter if they were in their skin or their fur, and he thought that they might appreciate having someone else on the other side of the room.

Besides, it wasn't like there was much _time _to sit around and complain when there was still so much work to do before winter came back.

On a particularly sunny afternoon, Steve and Clint had enthusiastically rushed through their foraging duties for the day. As it would turn out, Clint was _exceptional_ at foraging for Jim's healing herbs, and as a result they were able to spend the hottest hours of the day splashing around in the river while the others had gone off to hunt.

“Steve, Steve, _watch me!_” Clint cried from a little rocky outcropping about two feet above the water, though Steve could safely assume that to the boy it probably felt like a _huge_ cliff. Steve grinned, and made sure to turn his whole head in Clint's direction so that he knew that he was indeed being watched

“I'm watching, buddy!” Steve called back, and laughed as he watched Clint take a few measured steps back, then raced forward before forming his body into a cannonball, and he crashed into the water with a huge _splash!_

Steve laughed, sweeping in close to make sure Clint surfaced okay, feeling more and more protective of the boy the longer he was around. Thankfully, Clint popped back up with a happy giggle, which shifted to a delighted shriek when Steve grabbed him by the armpits and _threw _him back into the water.

They played until Clint started to shiver, at which point Steve insisted they get out of the river for a little break. He wrapped Clint up tightly in a towel, and still naked, he meandered through the trees to find some firewood.

Clint watched quietly as Steve built up a little fire, then ignited it with the tinderbox he'd brought with him from home, given that he still hadn't quite mastered the skill of lighting a fire with sticks and dried animal sinew like the others could.

Steve shared the towel with Clint, who, once mostly dry, gave it to Steve before he pulled on his own clothes without Steve's help, although he'd put everything on backwards, and Steve had to fix it for him with a fond smile on his face.

“One day I'll put my clothes on right-side-in,” Clint announced proudly, which caused Steve to chuckle warmly at his words. “How big do I need to be before I can do that, Steve?”

“Oh, probably real soon,” Steve replied with a fond smile as he reached out to ruffle the boy's damp hair, making him giggle. “You just gotta keep practising, that's all.”

“That's what my ma used to say,” Clint said with a sad sort of smile, staring up at Steve while he finished drying himself off and he tugged his own clothes on, before he added a few dry sticks to the fire, building it up before he grabbed a spool of twine in order to jig for fish. “She always saided...practise makes perfect.”

“You really miss your ma, huh?” Steve asked gently, and Clint nodded his head. “Yeah, me too.”

“Is your ma in heaven too?” Clint asked curiously, and Steve offered him another smile, one he hoped would be more reassuring than sad.

“No, my ma is still here,” Steve replied with a long sigh as he opened the bag he brought along, and affixed a hook and a piece of meat to the twine along with a weight, then plopped it into the river. “It's real complicated, Clint, but...my stepdad...he sort of put me out to pasture.”

“Like an old cow?” Clint asked as he tiptoed towards where Steve was sitting, almost like he was afraid of scaring the fish away. “My gran'pa used to do that. He put old cows out to pasture when they had no more milk.”

“Sort of, but it...it wasn't nice, what he did. Before I was a werewolf, I was small and sick all the time. For most people, times right now are _real _hard. My stepdad decided that I was too much trouble, and left me all by myself. I think he thought I would die all on my own, but...Alpha found me.”

Steve turned his head to look at Clint as he told the story, admittedly not at all sure if he _should _be telling a three-year-old such a story. He had no clue if it would hurt him, or if he'd even really understand how fucked up it was for that man to leave him alone like that.

Or his ma, for that matter, but Steve still hated the idea of imagining his mother _agreeing_ to something that monstrous. He still wanted to believe that his ma somehow didn't know about it, and maybe she'd finally stood up to the miserable old bastard over how badly he'd treated them since coming out here.

“That's not very nice,” Clint said, frowning, his little brow pinched as he thought it over. “Moms an' Dads are s'posed to be nice to their kids. I'm glad Alpha found you, Steve. I'd be _real _sad if you were dead for real.”

“Yeah, me too, kiddo,” Steve replied with a warm chuckle, reaching out to pat Clint on the cheek, making him giggle. “C'mon, you can help me fish.”

“Okay!”

Luckily, Clint seemed to have more of a knack for jigging than he did for putting his clothes on the right way, and they whiled away the remainder of the afternoon fishing and talking. Sometimes, Clint would blurt out random facts about his lost family, and Steve just let him talk, certain that the boy was probably missing his parents as much as he sometimes missed his own mother.

Some of the smaller fish, the perch and sunfish, they gutted and placed on hot rocks around the fire to cook and eat right away, while the bigger ones—trout, mostly—they dumped in a bucket of salt to keep them from spoiling in the hot sun. Clint even managed to catch a _massive _walleye, so big that Steve had to abandon his own line to help the boy land it, the fish very nearly dragging Clint into the drink in the process.

Not that Clint even noticed, as he was too busy excitedly reminding Steve about how big his fish was.

“I caught the _biggest_ fish!” Clint crowed later as they carried their medicinal herbs and fish home that evening. “I'm going to cook it and eat it _all!_”

“All of it, huh?” Steve asked with a warm laugh as he carried all of their stuff back towards home, given that Clint was too busy running around and gibbering excitedly about his fish to do much in the way of helping. “Can't I try some?”

“Only a little bit, since you helped,” Clint pronounced, turning his head a little to grin up at Steve, then let out a high laugh as he raced on ahead, calling for Bucky as he went, even though they were still a little way's from home. Steve wasn't worried, though—Clint knew the way back home pretty well by now, and Steve doubted that he'd get lost.

Not for the first time, Steve found himself quietly amazed by how quickly Clint seemed to recover from the traumatic experience he'd endured just a few months ago. These days, he acted very much like a normal kid, if a little bit more mature than one might expect from such a young child, though Steve had to assume that part of that was from being around what amounted to about seven dads, all of whom were keen to care for him and help him grow.

Even so, Clint's recovery from what had happened wasn't without his pitfalls. He talked about his family frequently, almost like he was afraid of forgetting them, and he still had nightmares pretty often, which led to him seeking out Steve and Bucky for reassurance, to make sure that nothing had happened to them like it had to his own parents.

Considering what he'd been through, Steve wasn't at all surprised that the kid was still having nightmares. Actually, Steve was genuinely surprised that it didn't happen _more _often, but then, it was pretty clear that Clint was far more resilient than Steve had originally given him credit for.

By the time they got back home (Clint well in the lead) Steve got the distinct impression that something had happened. There was a faint tension in the air, even as the other pack members did their best to hide it from Clint, who happily regaled them with the story of how he had caught The Big Fish.

Steve passed the salted fish over to Dum-Dum, who was on cooking duty for that night's supper, then handed the herbs to Jim to sort through, before Bucky wound an arm around Steve's waist, and guided him away from the others.

“There's humans poking around,” Bucky whispered, his voice so soft that Steve had to strain his ears to hear it.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, perplexed. “Like...hunters?”

“Maybe, I don't know,” Bucky replied with a huff, his expression twisting into a grimace. “I was on my way to speak to Alpha Phillips and his beta, Peggy. You've met Peggy before, I think. I thought it might be good to have some treaty in place between our packs so that we could visit from time to time, so that Clint could meet other kids like him. On the way back I scented humans. They're not too close yet, but too close for my liking.”

“What are we gonna do about it?” Steve asked curiously, “I mean, if it's hunters, we'll just look to them like...a family.”

“Not with our next moon approaching,” Bucky replied darkly, and let out a long sigh as he drew Steve even closer, and rested his head on Steve's shoulder. The gentle, tender embrace brought with it a now-familiar near-dizziness that Steve had come to associate with their still-healing bond. However, Bucky had been getting so much better at dividing his time equally that Steve no longer felt in any way abandoned by his mate.

“That's still two weeks away, Buck,” Steve replied, turning his head to kiss Bucky first on his cheek, then on his lips. “Most human hunters that I know of only go off hunting for a week or two at a time. I mean, maybe some of them stay longer, but wouldn't it make more sense for them to stick around in the autumn when all the animals are at their fattest?”

“That's true,” Bucky mused, then chuckled warmly as he lifted one hand to touch Steve's cheek. “Funny, you always know exactly what to say to keep me from panicking.”

“I try,” Steve replied, smiling at his mate, just as Clint raced over to them with a big smile on his cherubic face, and by the look in his eyes Steve could just _tell _that Clint wanted his turn with Alpha, so that he could regale him with every single detail about his and Steve's time at the river.

~*~

Instead of going inside to make supper, where the ever-growing house was stuffy and hot, the pack built up a bonfire and whole-roasted the fish Steve and Clint had brought home. As promised, they let Clint have his walleye. Amazingly, in spite of his size, Clint managed to polish off the whole thing by himself and somehow had room for _seconds._

“Don't freak out,” Bucky murmured teasingly as he turned one of the spits that held a trout, ensuring that it would cook evenly. “Cubs eat a whole lot, especially once they have a few transformations under their belt. Transformations take up a lot of energy, so they eat a lot more than an adult wolf would. Once he gets a little older, he probably won't eat as much.”

“That makes sense,” Steve mused as he bit into his own fish, the fresh flesh pulling away sweetly, and Steve nearly groaned at how good it tasted. “Still a bit freaky to watch such a small child eat so much.”

“Just _wait _until he hits puberty,” Bucky joked, and Steve snorted.

After they all ate, Morita gathered up the abandoned fish tails and bones and carried them off to the river to be disposed of, so that they wouldn't attract any bears. Dum-Dum and Jacques turned their attention to the two bucks they'd brought home, carving up the meat to be dried out by the fire, while other pieces were salted or set aside to be pickled or smoked.

It was nice to sit there and just feel at _peace._ Bucky was lying on his back, watching the night sky, and Steve, on instinct, had pillowed his head against Bucky's stomach. Bucky reached out immediately to run his fingers through Steve's hair, while Clint was off chasing fireflies, while being closely watched by Jim so that he didn't get himself lost in the dark.

Like this, it was difficult for Steve to remember Bucky's worries about possible human hunters in the area. Steve was even less willing to bring it up when his mate felt so _calm. _It was a rare thing even on the best of days—Bucky was always worrying about Steve, or Clint, or their foolhardy pack who were so very good at getting themselves into trouble.

Tonight, at least, there was no such trouble. Steve rolled on his side, and Bucky's hand slid to the base of Steve's neck, cradling it, before he drew his Alpha Mate close, and kissed him tenderly.

~*~

The next day, Steve was tasked to help out with insulating the new, unfinished rooms, and Dum-Dum took over Clint Duty. He'd announced to everyone that he'd be taking Clint into the woods for some berry-picking, which practically _ensured _that the boy would come back stained pink and purple.

Clearly, Jim seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and promptly he set out all the necessary clothes-washing tools before he went back to helping Steve with insulating the rooms. They were packing the wall-cavities with bone-dry hay before they sealed them up. They didn't have anything high-tech like asbestos at their disposal, so they settled for the hay, which would work just as well when paired with the warm fireplace and wood stove. They had collected it all from the old Barton homestead some weeks prior, albeit without mentioning as such to Clint, as Steve figured that would only upset him.

It was easy work if they could avoid getting splinters, and sealing up the rooms seemed to make the other pack members almost giddy with excitement, Gabe in particular, who happily regaled the others with how he planned to decorate the small bedroom's floor with animal skins and furs on his side, while Jacques protested that that was 'wasteful'.

The banter was, at best, halfhearted, and Steve laughed while Bucky rolled his eyes, like he'd seen that sort of attitude from his packmates a million times before.

As so many days before it, it passed in a blur of manual labour, eating well, and the promised Dirty Cub that returned in the late afternoon with Dum-Dum in tow, and Steve immediately took the helm on carrying Clint to their recently-constructed bathhouse, while Jim and Morita began to heat up huge pots of water on their bonfire to tackle his mussed clothes.

Clint seemed to think that it was all some sort of wonderful game, giggling as Steve chased him around the bathhouse, and stripped the boy out of his berry-stained clothes before he dunked him into the hot water of the metal basin they all used as their tub, and Clint surfaced, sputtering and laughing, while Steve grabbed the soap, and made a valiant effort to get their cub clean.

~*~

“I can't get over how much Clint's changed,” Steve said as he stretched out in bed, watching as Bucky shouldered out of his day clothes, and crawled into bed with his mate. “I mean...he was so..._you know..._when he got here, and now...I don't think I've ever seen a kid smile half as much as he does.”

“Cubs are real good at bouncing back,” Bucky replied with a fond smile as he draped an arm across Steve's chest, and pecked a kiss to his lips. “It's not half as fun as watching you mother him, let me tell you.”

“How come _I'm _always the mom in this scenario?” Steve demanded, even as he laughed while he spoke. “I'm one of the biggest wolves here.”

“But still the most _caring_, sweetheart,” Bucky cooed, his lips curled back in a teasing grin, and Steve rolled his eyes. “Being a mother isn't so much about if you're effeminate, and more...how you _are. _Sure, I might be the leader, but you...you hold us all together. You know when we need a break, and you know how to break up arguments before they really start. You're just good at keeping us all together. And you know how to corral a cub into a bath better than _all _of us combined.”

“Well, one of us has to,” Steve replied, smiling as he tried to not feel _too _pleased with everything that Bucky had just said.

“Hmm...well, the little guy's asleep now, and the one one who really needs taking care of is _me..._” Bucky purred as he went in for another intoxicating kiss. “What d'you say, sugar?”

“Oh, I'll take _real _good care of you, Buck...” Steve replied in a similar tone of voice, and Bucky grinned in a wide, almost wolfish smile, while his hands slowly ghosted their way down Steve's sides, and his cock began to respond, without Bucky even having to touch it.

Steve was ready—_more _than ready to keep going, but like a crack of thunder of a quiet night, a sudden sound broke through their moment and caused them both to freeze.

_Knock, knock, knock_

For a moment, they were both quiet. They didn't move—Steve hardly dared to _breathe._

“Was that...was that what I think it was?” Steve whispered softly, but even that small sound felt impossibly loud to his raging werewolf instincts that were _screaming _at him to stay still and be quiet.

“I...I don't know,” Bucky whispered back. “It can't've been another pack, they would know better than to come into another pack's territory so late...”

“Could it be something falling?”

“Against the door?” Bucky replied, sounding just as perplexed as Steve felt. Before they could come to a decision one way or the other, they heard it again.

_Knock, knock, knock_

There was no mistaking it this time—someone was _definitely _knocking on the door.

Like a flash, Bucky leapt from the bed and landed soundlessly on the floor. He hastily yanked on a pair of pants, while he whispered urgently, “go to Clint's room and make sure he doesn't wander out. If it's a threat, I don't want him caught in the crossfire. Make sure both of you _keep quiet, _understand?”

“I can help—” Steve began, hating the niggling feeling in his stomach like he was being banished, but before he could even get properly angry Bucky was there, cradling his cheeks and kissing him fiercely.

“I know you can, sweetheart—trust me, _I know._ But you and Clint are my family, and it'd kill me if something happened to either one of you. So please, just until we know what this is, protect him? For us?”

The knocking sounded again. Steve heard the soft, almost imperceptible shift of movement from the other bedrooms, signifying that the others had heard the noise, and were likely waiting for Bucky to lead them. They were running out of time.

“Okay,” Steve relented with a long sigh, part acceptance, and part frustration. “I'll go watch Clint.”

Steve mimicked Bucky and threw on a pair of pants before they shared one last kiss, then each departed for their individual destinations. Steve went around the corner into Clint's bedroom, and Bucky headed for the front of the house.

Inside the room, Steve found Clint sitting bolt-upright in bed, looking positively petrified. Only in that moment did it occur to Steve how familiar this must feel to the boy, of his whole family being snatched away in the night. His toy bear hugged so tight to his chest the head ran the risk of popping right off, and tears were streaking down his cheeks.

Without a word, Steve sat on the edge of the bed and gathered the terrified boy into his arms. Clint tucked his face in the crook of Steve's neck, while Steve strained his ears to listen as he heard the front door crack open, and a sharp, frightened gasping of breath met his ears, like whoever was there was terrified.

“Who are you?” Steve heard Bucky bark. “What do you want?”

When the visitor spoke, Steve nearly dropped Clint, but it was a very near thing.

He hadn't known what he'd expected, but who he heard speak wasn't even on his _list _of possible visitors or intruders.

It was a voice he never thought he'd hear again.

“Oh, um, hello,” the shaky female voice said. “I-I'm sorry for coming to call so late, but I just saw your chimney smoke and I _had _to try, y-you see...I'm looking for someone. I was hoping you may have seen...something.”

“Who are you looking for?” Bucky shot back, his voice hard and defensive, like he expected her to attack, even though Steve knew that was impossible. She had always been such a _kind_ soul.

“Well, I'm looking for my son, Steve Rogers.”


	22. The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for January 31st. Enjoy!
> 
> **Content Warning: Past/Referenced Spousal Abuse**

Chapter Twenty-Two – The Reunion

Steve didn't realize he was crying until Clint reached up in order to clumsily patted his cheeks in order to wipe away his tears.

“Steve, why are you sad?” Clint whispered in a tone that was much louder than a whisper should have been, but Steve didn't mind that. He smiled at the boy as he shook his head, and hugged him closer.

“That's my ma out there, Clint,” Steve whispered. Outside of the room, the house had gone very quiet. Steve could hear murmuring, like they were trying to decide how to proceed. Knowing Bucky, he'd probably interrogate his poor mother instead of letting her in. “And I think Alpha is gonna give her a hard time if I don't go out and split them up.”

“Then how comes you're not going?” Clint asked curiously, and Steve laughed softly.

“Because before the Bite, I looked a little different,” Steve explained hesitantly. “I don't wanna scare my poor ma away.”

“I know I'd want to see my mom, even if she was a swamp monster,” Clint said thoughtfully, then shivered. “But...a not scary swamp monster. Maybe a lake monster. Or...in a puddle...monster.”

“Monster in a puddle, huh?” Steve asked, and Clint nodded his head fervently.

“Would you be brave if I held you hand, Steve?” Clint asked, “then you could go see your mommy.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “I bet I'd feel a whole lot braver if you came with me, kiddo.”

With that, Steve gathered Clint and the boy's teddy bear into his arms, and headed for the door.

Steve walked quickly, keen to stop Bucky from interrogating his mother, or, worse, sending her away. Out in the main area of the house, he saw his mother standing at the door, a camping backpack and bedroll on her back, along with a beat up pair of hiking boots on her feet that looked about ready to fall apart. Her hands were folded together in front of her politely while she stood on the doorstep, while Bucky was turned away from her and whispering feverishly with the others in the pack.

And it was _undoubtedly _her. The same blonde hair with wisps of grey tied back from her face in a bob, same dimpled smile on her face, same blue eyes Steve saw whenever he looked in the mirror.

Steve tensed his arms around Clint, certain that if he didn't, he'd drop him. The wall of familiar scent hit him like a train, and fresh tears flooded his eyes.

_His mother was really here._

“Ma...” Steve croaked. Sarah Rogers's gaze shifted to him, and Steve could tell that she recognized him immediately. Without pause, Sarah lifted her hands to her mouth, just as she, too, started to cry.

Steve barely had the wherewithal to set Clint down before he rushed to his mother, and pulled her close in a crushing hug. Bucky was standing there at a loss for what to do or say, not even when Clint walked over to him and took his hand.

“Oh, my beautiful boy, let me look at you,” Sarah said between hiccoughing laughs and sobs, reaching up to cradle Steve's cheeks and gaze up at him. “Goodness, how you've _grown!_ And here I thought your growing days were _over_.”

“It's...kind of a long story, Ma,” Steve explained with a weak laugh as he let his mother manhandle his face, gripping his chin so she could inspect him from every angle, turning his head sharply, like she expected to find some kind of trick to his new appearance.

“I can see that,” she replied with a wry sort of smile, but it fell almost the same moment the expression had appeared on her face, and her eyes filmed over with tears again. “Oh, I'm so sorry, my sweet boy...I'm so sorry it took me so long to find you...”

“Why don't you two go and sit?” Jim interjected when Sarah trailed off, and both Steve and Sarah turned to him in sync. Jim chuckled nervously in response, though that could have been from the way Bucky was _glaring _at him for making such an offer without consulting him first. “It would seem that you two have a _lot _of catching up to do, and I thought, well...perhaps you'd be more comfortable sitting inside, or perhaps outside under the stars. We can have a bed made up for you, it's no trouble at all.”

“That sounds great, Jim, thanks,” Steve replied before Bucky would be able to protest, and Bucky scowled, making it _very _clear that he didn't approve of the invitation in the _slightest_.

Steve honestly didn't know what he was expecting when he invited his mother in and got her settled on the couch. Her enormous bag was taken by Dum-Dum to one of the rooms, though wisely he didn't mention that Jim would have to bunk with the others for the night, as Sarah was definitely the type to protest them 'making a fuss' over her.

At the same time, Clint sat on the couch with Sarah, seemingly caught between curiosity and apprehension, having heard the more lukewarm versions of how Steve's stepdad had dumped him, and how his mother, apparently, had gone along with it. The boy didn't say anything, but he watched Sarah curiously, while Sarah, in turn, smiled back at Clint warmly. As they sat there she posed him with gentle and unassuming questions, like his favourite toy, and what he liked to eat, never once delving into the more complicated questions about where he'd come from, and where his parents were.

Clint answered shyly, looking to Steve and Bucky for guidance, and while Bucky looked on with concern, Steve smiled and nodded at him in encouragement.

“Steve, I don't like this,” Bucky whispered urgently while the rest of the pack fussed over Sarah, bringing her tea and cookies, while she chuckled and waved them off, insisting that she _just wanted to talk with her son._

“What don't you like?” Steve whispered back, turning his gaze away from his mother reluctantly in order to frown at Bucky. “It's my _mother_, Bucky. If you think we're gonna send her away in the middle of the night, you're crazy!”

“Who just _found _our territory by chance?” Bucky shot back. “Someone _had _to have helped her.”

“You don't know my ma, Bucky,” Steve countered. “She's real stubborn. If she wanted to come looking for me, she'd knock on every damn door for a hundred miles until she found me.”

“Yeah, that's the other thing,” Bucky retorted. “Why _now? _If she was so worried about you, why'd she wait so long, huh?”

“Well, if you'd like to come and have a seat with me, maybe I'll tell you,” Sarah interjected, and when Bucky and Steve both turned to look at her, they saw that she was smiling at them benignly, without even a hint of malice in her eyes.

“Come on, you'll see,” Steve whispered as he took Bucky's hand without fear, and bit his lip when his ma immediately smiled at him broadly.

His mother didn't say anything about their intertwined fingers, and just kept smiling her secret little smile as Steve walked over to the couch with Bucky in tow. He sat down facing Sarah with Bucky next to him, and Clint promptly climbed into Steve's lap and curled up, peeking over Steve's arm at Sarah as though he still wasn't entirely sure if he could trust her yet, while the boy's presence reminded Steve that it was _way _past their cub's bedtime.

“I better get this one of to bed before we get too wrapped up in our talk,” Steve said after a long, awkward pause. “Um, I'll be back in a second.”

Clint didn't protest as Steve hefted him up into his arms. He paused just long enough to glare at Bucky in warning to be civil with his ma before he carried Clint back to bed and tucked him in. Though he _longed _to just rush back out and talk to his mother, he forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed and rub little Clint's back while he settled, watching with a little smile how Clint hugged his bear to his chest tightly.

“Why is Alpha afraid of your mommy?” Clint asked, his voice thick and drowsy, but not quite back to sleep yet. “Is she really scary?”

“No, she's not scary,” Steve murmured back with a warm chuckle that made Clint smile. “Alpha just worries. He worries about everything, but especially about you and me.”

“Alpha worries about weird stuff,” Clint said, and Steve chuckled warmly at his observation.

“Yeah, he does.”

When Steve finally made it back out to the main area of the cabin, it was to a painfully awkward scene. His mother had apparently opted out of her idle chitchat approach, and was sipping the tea she'd been given quietly, while Bucky glared at her in a way that would probably curdle the blood of most people. To Steve's eyes, Bucky seemed to be extra annoyed that it didn't appear to be working on her.

“Um, he's asleep again,” Steve said in a vain attempt to ease the tension in the room while he walked back over to his mother and his mate, and sat between them. He clapped Bucky on the leg affectionately, and even this tiny show of affection didn't startle his mother, who just smiled at him fondly. Steve blinked, certain that this, at least, would have garnered more of a response than just a smile, to which his mother let out a warm, full-bellied laugh.

“Oh, Steven, be _realistic_,” she said with another warm laugh, making it clear that his surprise and confusion at her nonchalance must have shown on his face. “Back in the city you were _not _the sneaky homosexual you thought you were. And all those _very handsome _friends of yours? _Please. _I wasn't born yesterday, son.”

“But...but...” Steve stammered, trying to find the right words. Sure, he was relieved that she wasn't upset about it, but at the same time he found himself completely stunned about how she wasn't freaking out about his supposedly fractured morality.

“Son, I am a _nurse_,” Sarah reminded him with another one of her warm smiled. “I have treated so many soldiers over the years, my boy, and if you think they were in the army to see some _action, _well...”

Sarah smiled at him coyly, and Steve felt his face flush a deep, burning red as he cried, _“Ma!” _and Bucky lost the fight with his composure as he snorted with laughter. Sarah immediately joined in, the tension between them seeming to crack, if only for a moment, while they shared in Steve's complete and utter bewilderment.

“I just mean that it is not wrong, son; I will never believe that it is. Genitalia is just...God's way of accessorizing.” She paused, and laughed. “Certainly you noticed that we stopped attending church after Father O'Connell began to speak on the _depravity of the homosexual?”_

“Yeah, I remember,” Steve replied, feeling his shoulders slump a little as the memory flashed before his eyes. He'd only been fourteen at the time, well before Steve had even started sneaking out to the clubs, and the entire congregation had been _scandalized _that Sarah had dragged her son out of the church right in the middle of Sunday Mass.

“Now then, no more silly worries about me being upset about this very protective young man of yours, Steve,” his mother said with a teasing sort of sternness to her voice.

Steve smiled faintly as he nodded, and his mother offered him another smile. For a moment, neither of them seemed to know what to say. Steve desperately wanted to know how she'd found him, and if the look on Sarah's face was any sort of indication, she clearly wanted to know how he'd been faring out here, but he had no _clue _where to start.

“I think we'd _all _like to know what happened to make you abandon your son,” Bucky filled in icily when neither Steve nor Sarah spoke. “He was really heartbroken when I first found him, and barely alive to top it off. Why do you suddenly care _now_?”

“I never stopped caring,” Sarah said simply as she offered Bucky a nod of understanding, as though she approved of Bucky's protectiveness, before she fixed her gaze firmly back on her son. “Steve, I had no _idea _what Ed had planned on that horrible day. He told me that he was taking you with him to pick up supplies in town. Then when he came back without you, he wouldn't tell me what happened, and when I tried to force the issue...well...”

Sarah smiled without humour, and Steve felt his heart break for his mother. It didn't take much to figure out that Ed would start swinging when she pushed him too hard.

“After he made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't go looking for you, I started going to the sheep farmers next door, and I became fairly good friends with the wife. They only had one grown son, and she was always kind to me. After I told her what happened, she relayed it to her husband, who was equally horrified.”

Sarah paused her tale, and sipped the tea she'd been given. Her gaze dropped from Steve to her lap, and she was breathing deeply, like she was trying to calm down and not dissolve into tears again. Neither Steve nor Bucky spoke while they waited for her to collect herself, and resume her story.

“Together, the three of us came up with a plan. The husband, Charlie, invited Ed over for a drink, or two. I stayed home to watch his children, and Charlie, after entirely too much whisky, wheedled out of Ed where he'd left you. After that, we spent months with our noses in front of maps of those areas, planning out my escape from Ed. I no longer wished to stay with him, not after what he did to you, but I had no choice but to wait it out, at least until it got warmer outside. I packed a bag in secret when Ed was in the fields and the children were occupied, and when we all deemed it safe I ran to Charlie and Lorraine's house, and they took me out here with their car. Then I started my search.”

“But how did you find _us?”_ Bucky pressed before Steve could say anything. “I've made a _point _of keeping away from where hum—” Steve glared at Bucky in warning, and Bucky quickly amended his words. “Where _people _can't find us. So how did _you?_”

“Oh, not easily, let me tell you,” Sarah replied with a small smile. “I started by asking everyone in town if they'd seen my son, and I stumbled across a chemist who had a _very strange experience._” She paused when Steve snorted, while Bucky looked utterly perplexed. Most likely, he had no _clue _what a chemist even _was. _“He told me of this man who came into his store, half out of his mind with worry for someone who was having an asthma attack. After he just gave the asthma cigarettes to this man, the next morning he found a deer on his stoop, and could never quite figure out if it was a warning, or some kind of thank-you.

“Well,” Sarah continued as she leaned back a little, “I pressed this man for more details, and he said that there were rumours of men living in the mountains, hunting and gathering in these hard times, instead of trying to scratch out some kind of a living in town. The chemist was pretty sure that this man was like that, and pointed me in the direction of where I could start looking. I walked through the paths in the woods for a few days, luckily with some rations I had saved up, and then...then I saw it.”

“Saw what, Ma?”

“Smoke,” Sarah replied, her eyes sparkling with tears again. “_Chimney smoke. _And then I found _you._”

Steve felt his throat close as he moved forward to embrace his mother again. She cried into his shoulder, and he hugged her close, as she wept and apologized, too awestruck by everything his mother had done to get back to him to even think of crying himself, and just held her,

“Now—now I'd like to hear about you,” Sarah said thickly as she pulled back from Steve, tugging a cloth handkerchief from her pocket in order to dab at her eyes. “Did someone give you some magic beans, my boy?”

“Something like that,” Steve replied, somewhat evasively, while he gazed at Bucky. “Um...you might have a hard time believing it, though.”

“Steve is a wolf now,” Bucky interjected, saying it so bluntly that it almost seemed like he was trying to dare Sarah to contradict him. “When I found him, he was dying. He was my true mate. I let him be human as long as he wanted but then his lungs got sick. After I got him his medicine I asked him if he would allow me to change him to heal his lungs, and he said yes.”

Steve's gaze whipped from Bucky to his mother and back again, his mouth hanging open as he tried to figure out what the _hell _he was supposed to say now. His mother looked visibly startled, her mouth open slightly and her eyes a little wide, but far less shocked than Steve expected her to be. In contrast, Bucky was still bearing a hard look, like he was prepared to defend Steve's honour if she so much as uttered a _syllable _that could be interpreted as some kind of a rejection.

“Like...like...Laignech Fáelad? The legendary warrior?”

“How do _you_ know my ancestor's name?” Bucky demanded, his voice now more than a snarl than actual words, and Sarah jumped back a little, eyes wide, while Steve turned to Bucky and shot him with a nasty glare.

“Bucky, _stop_,” Steve commanded, placing a hand firmly against Bucky's chest as he met the Alpha's eyes with his own in challenge. “My mother isn't here to hurt _anyone_. For the love of all that is good, please stop looking for an excuse to interrogate her.”

Bucky glared right back at Steve, like he was _certain _that Sarah Rogers was somehow a threat to the pack, but Steve, unbending, kept on glaring. He hardly blinked, determined to show Bucky that he wasn't about to let him harass his mother for any reason, when, at the same moment, his mother's voice sounded from behind him,

“The...The Werewolves of Ossory was a favourite childhood story of mine,” Sarah said, her voice a little more timid than Steve was used to hearing. “My nan—Steve's great-grandmother, she was from Kilkenny in Ireland, and used to tell me those stories when I was a little girl. Stories of the warrior-werewolf, the first one to turn from a man into a wolf, the ancestor of the king of Ossory...the descendant of the wolf.”

She said this all very fast, but by the time she had finished speaking, Bucky was listening to her intently, his anger apparently drained out of him, though his expression was still guarded. She offered him a hesitant smile, and added, “if all that is true...then it means you gifted my son with a wonderful power, and you saved his life in the process. He was so sick all the time, one little sniffle and I never knew if it would pass or turn into something life-threatening. Now...my boy is _strong. _And _healthy. _So...Bucky, thank you. Thank you for taking care of my son when I should have—_protecting _him when I should have.”

Sarah's words seemed to have cemented Bucky's state of shock, and he shifted his gaze to Steve, seemingly looking for guidance. Steve offered him a lopsided grin, and motioned for him to say something.

“Now that you've found Steve, what do you plan to do about it?” Bucky asked instead of responding to her gratitude, his voice escaping him hesitantly, like he was almost _afraid _to ask. The question seemed to confuse Sarah, but Steve thought he could suddenly see why Bucky had been so confrontational up to now. Clearly, Bucky was afraid that Sarah planned to take Steve away from here, and back to the 'human' world.

“Honestly, my dear, I haven't thought that far ahead,” Sarah replied as she reached out to pat the back of Bucky's hand, and he jumped a little, as though surprised by the contact, and Sarah immediately stopped. “Coming out here, I had no idea if I would find my son alive or dead. Now that I've found him, I was hoping that you would allow me to stay for a day or two, to get to know my boy again. Then I planned to head into the town nearby and get myself set up there. Every town needs nurses, and I spent a little time at the Rooming House while I was trying to figure out where to start my search.”

“So...you don't want Steve to...come with you?” Bucky ventured. Steve reached for his mate and took one of his hands, while Sarah smiled at him fondly.

“His life is here, Bucky; any fool could see that,” Sarah replied easily. “He has a...a love, and that mysterious little boy, Clint, I believe you called him? And all those other strapping young men...I can _feel_ that this is your family now. After losing Steve, I can truly understand what losing your family feels like. I will not do that to you.”

“Clint is our adoptive son,” Steve filled in with a proud smile. “It's a long story, Ma, but we can fill you in tomorrow if you want, since it's getting kind of late.”

“Then I must be a grandmother now,” Sarah said with a joyous sort of smile. “Will I be permitted to get to know my grandson, as well as how my own son is doing?”

Perhaps from anyone else, such a statement may have felt passive-aggressive, but when Sarah asked, she had fixed her gaze on Bucky in particular, and seemed to be _genuinely _asking not just for permission to stay, but permission to speak to Clint, as though she just understood without anyone having to say it that Bucky was the leader of their little pack, and if she was to stay here peacefully, she would need to abide by his rules.

“I mean...if he wants to talk to you, I guess you can,” Bucky replied awkwardly, almost like he wasn't used to people asking him for permission so politely, and Steve grinned at his mate proudly, which caused Bucky to blush.

“Wonderful!” Sarah said cheerily, and she clapped her hands together once, causing Bucky to crack a weak smile, while Steve turned in order to smile broadly at his mother.

“Well, if all the tough stuff is done, do you want some real food to eat, Ma?” Steve asked, “or d'you want to go to sleep? I'm sure Jim's got the bedroom all ready for you.”

“Oh, a real _bed_,” Sarah replied with a long, wistful sigh. “After spending a few weeks on bedrolls in the woods, that sounds _heavenly._”

Once it was clear that their discussion had been wrapped up, the other pack members seemed to all come out of the woodwork to greet Sarah properly. Each one shook her hand politely, and Sarah was careful to ask and repeat each of their names in turn, to ensure she had them right.

It truthfully reminded Steve of a scene out of _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, _and he nearly started laughing when his ma suddenly proclaimed, “oh, goodness me, I feel like Snow White!”

“With taller men around,” Dum-Dum quipped, while the other werewolves looked politely perplexed, and began to ask Sarah who Snow White was.

At the risk of their evening turning into a retelling of the old Grimm tale, Steve stood up and shooed the others away while he said, “come on, give my poor Ma some room, she's beat.”

Sarah offered Steve a smile in thanks, while he guided her to the room that had been prepared for her. Upon stepping inside, Steve saw her bag had been rested against the side of the bed, which had been given a fresh change of sheets. The window had been opened all the way, and it was letting in a pleasant summer breeze. His mother's window happened to be facing their gardens, and the fresh smell of their herbs along with it. As far as a nice place to sleep, Steve could think of no room better suited to his mother.

“Maybe we could talk more tomorrow,” Steve offered as his ma sat down on the bed, and let out a little sigh, showing Steve just how tired she really must be. “One of us usually gets up early to cook for everyone, and it's my turn tomorrow—I'll make you something real special.”

“You don't need to do that, sweetheart,” Sarah replied as she smiled at him kindly. “Please, I don't need you fussing over me. Just cook whatever you would normally cook for the rest of your...family.”

“All right,” Steve replied as he smirked at his mother, and she shook her head, as though she already knew that Steve would whip up something special anyway. “Um...I really hate to ask, but do we need to worry about Ed coming to look for you?”

“I doubt it,” Sarah replied with a worn, humourless smile. “That man didn't care much for me in the end. He wanted a maid and a nanny, not a wife. His wandering eye will save us from any uncomfortable encounters, I think.”

“You sure know how to pick 'em,” Steve said with a sigh, and his mother bowed her head guiltily.

“If there is a next time, I hope it will be a better man—like your father.”

“There's _no one _like Dad, Ma,” Steve replied, and his mother smiled as though in agreement.

“I think I'll sleep now,” she said in lieu of responding to his statement. “It's been a long journey, and I am not as young as I once was.”

“Okay,” Steve said without protest as he stood up, “if you need anything...you know where to find me. Sleep well, Ma.”

“You too, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Genitalia remark was 100% stolen from the US version of Queer as Folk. All information on the Werewolves of Ossory was taken from Wikipedia.


	23. Settled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for February 14th. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Three – Settled

Steve's plan had been a simple one.

He would wake up early and make breakfast. He'd impress his mother with his cooking skills, then maybe show off a little with how good he'd gotten at house construction, while his mother bonded with Clint.

At least, show off _just _enough that she wouldn't worry he'd keel over anymore.

Except, when Steve _did _wake up, he could only presume that he'd been more tired than he thought from everything that had happened the day before. The sun was already fairly high in the sky, he was alone in bed, and he could hear pleasant breakfast chatter emanating from the main area of the house.

Paired with it were familiar smells that Steve knew all _too_ well. It was clear that his ma had definitely gotten up before anyone else and made her world-famous cinnamon rolls.

Quite suddenly, Steve was thrilled that he'd asked Bucky to get some yeast on his most recent supply run. Clearly, his ma had located the cinnamon in their meagre collection of spices when she started to rifle through their kitchen supplies, but Steve was definitely not one to complain about her possibly depleting their tiny stock of cinnamon—it had made the whole house smell warm and inviting.

Following his nose, Steve found the whole pack congregated around their little table, which had been jam-packed not only with fresh cinnamon rolls, but scrambled eggs, bacon, and caseless sausage, along with a pot of coffee and a pitcher of juice.

“I was gonna make breakfast,” was the first thing that slipped past his lips, even as everyone continued to chatter, and his ma laughed warmly at the tone of his voice.

“I want Missus Sarah to make bra'fast forever,” Clint piped up happily even as everyone else started to laugh, the boy's face and hands visibly sticky from the decimated cinnamon roll on his plate. “Her spicy bread is _magic._”

“Yeah, it's pretty damn good,” Dum-Dum agreed, and grinned innocently at Sarah when she shot him a look for his language, and he laughed merrily when she swatted his shoulder with a spatula. “Can't remember the last time I had real cinnamon rolls like this...”

“Tell me about it,” Gabe agreed thickly, taking a long drink from the juice before he added, “cinnamon we couldn't grow at the old pack, obviously, so we only got it if someone did a supply run in town.”

“It certainly makes a nice change,” Jim agreed from behind his coffee cup. “My lady, you may bake for us _whenever_ your heart desires.”

“Hear hear!” Morita piped up, and the table dissolved into boisterous laughter, and even Bucky, who was sitting at the head of the table, managed a smile.

“If you can't grow cimmanin, where does it come from?” Clint asked curiously while Steve sat down next to Bucky, and offered his mate's hand a gentle squeeze, which he returned with a small smile, though he didn't say anything while Steve loaded his plate with food. Truthfully, Steve honestly couldn't tell if Bucky was still being cold to Sarah for how things played out, or if he just didn't know what to say to the woman, but Steve decided that it might be best to save that for a private conversation, and instead he turned his attention to Clint's question.

“Cinnamon is from a special tree,” Steve said as he smiled at Clint while he added the last cinnamon roll to his plate. “But we can't grow it here 'cause it's too cold. It only grows in hot, faraway places.”

“Oh.” Clint looked down at his plate, little brow pinched thoughtfully as he absorbed this new information. “Like in a desert.”

Steve chuckled, and nodded. He didn't actually know if cinnamon trees grew in deserts, but he figured that was close enough to the truth that he didn't need to pick it apart. The cub was only three, after all, so it probably wouldn't make much difference to him how specific they were, though that seemed to open the floodgates for Clint to ask what _else _grew in hot places, and everyone began to take turns thinking up random items that wouldn't grow in their climate.

~*~

After breakfast, Sarah tried to clean up, but Dum-Dum wouldn't have it, and _insisted_ she go and relax. She looked to Steve for guidance, who grinned at her and added, “you made us all an amazing breakfast, Ma. You deserve to relax a little.”

“Oh, well, if I _must_...” Sarah replied with a long, put-upon sigh, like it was a real trial for her to actually take a break, but Clint was already up and out of his seat, reaching up at her like he was silently asking to be picked up.

Like Steve, Sarah was also incapable of refusing the sweet boy, and she smiled as she gathered him up into her arms, and carried him outside while she said something about getting a little fresh air.

Dum-Dum got started on dishes, while Steve and Bucky filed outside with the others. Everyone appeared pretty keen to resume their daily tasks that needed to get done, even with the extra guest around.

Steve watched, Bucky acting casual as he circled the property to head for the wood pile. However, Steve thought it was pretty obvious that he was actually checking to make sure his ma hadn't run off with Clint. The pair in question were sitting off to the side of the house out of the way of the others, while Clint showed Sarah all the toys he'd forgotten outside the day before, including a wooden hawk that Bucky had whittled for him.

It hurt Steve's heart to see Bucky acting like that, but Steve hoped that in time he might be less suspicious. To be fair, Bucky didn't know Sarah Rogers nearly as well as Steve did, and maybe a little suspicion was to be expected until he got to know her better.

As the day wore on, Clint spending time with Sarah seemed to be something of a blessing in disguise. He warmed up to her faster than he had with anyone else in the pack, and Sarah was all too happy to play with the boy while the pack worked.

Today, Steve was helping fell trees, both for their dwindling wood pile and the construction projects on the cabin, and Jacques was already talking about modifying the floor plan for an extra room, as though he was well-aware that Sarah would come to visit often, even after everything had settled down.

Or, rather, Steve was _supposed _to be felling trees, but he could feel Bucky's eyes burning into his bare back from the tree line, and it was making it _very _hard to concentrate.

“Why don't you take a picture, Buck, it'll last longer!” Steve called teasingly without turning around, and swung the axe into the trunk of a thin spruce with a satisfying _thwack!_

“What's a picture?” Bucky called back as Steve listened to his mate's approach. He lowered the axe so that he didn't accidentally hurt him, and grinned as he turned to see Bucky sauntering towards him with something not unlike a predatory gait. Like Steve, he'd opted out of a shirt while he helped the others work—it was blisteringly hot that day, and their body heat was already higher than normal, making it far from comfortable to go around fully dressed.

“It's like a drawing, but done with a machine, and it's...well, not instant, but faster than a drawing is,” Steve explained, feeling quietly amazed at how...well, _sheltered_ Bucky really was, living his whole life with a werewolf pack. He really liked the idea of showing Bucky all the things he may have missed in the world of human technology. “I could show you sometime.”

“Hmm...but not right now...right?” Bucky purred as he stopped in front of Steve, and draped his arms loosely around his waist.

“Are you thinking of making me slack off?” Steve teased, grinning as he glanced towards his tree-felling companion, and Dum-Dum just rolled his eyes as he went back to chopping, no longer even passing Steve a second glance, like he used to.

“It crossed my mind,” Bucky replied teasingly, leaning up the scant few inches in their height difference in order to nibble at Steve's bottom lip. “You've been working yourself too hard, doll. You gotta _relax._”

For a moment, Steve almost asked Bucky how he planned to take him off for a quick midday fuck, while _also_ keeping an eye on Sarah. Bucky hadn't exactly been subtle about how little he trusted Steve's ma with Clint, but by the same token, he wasn't overly keen to draw attention to it and make Bucky rush off to check on them.

After all, Steve knew perfectly well that Clint was safe with his mother. Beyond just being a great person, she was also a _nurse. _If Clint hurt himself, his mother was the perfect person to take care of their cub.

Instead of saying anything at all that might spoil the moment, Steve offered Bucky a smile before he tossed the axe away, then cradled Bucky's cheek in his hand as he drew him in for a kiss.

Bucky kissed him back for only a moment, not long enough, as far as Steve was concerned, before the alpha took his hands, and tugged on them gently.

“Come on,” Bucky whispered against his lips, “I think we both need a little cooling off.”

Steve took a moment to glance at Dum-Dum, but the other wolf just waved them off, rolling his eyes as he did so.

Bucky took the opportunity to grab Steve's hand, and with a wolfish grin, he dragged his mate away.

~*~

They wove together through the trees until they came upon a part of the river that was deeper than the rest, and with a slow current. The trees were thick here, and it was farther than Steve usually went to swim, but when he went swimming it was usually with Clint, and he never wanted to stray too far away from the pack if something happened.

With Bucky at his side, Steve felt _safe_. It always felt as though nothing bad could possibly happen when his mate was at his side, and the seclusion was a nice change, like they had departed from their daily life and into a word that was all their own.

Though Steve's mind abruptly changed on that front when Bucky suddenly let go of his hand and shoved him right into the river with his jeans still on.

“_Bucky!_” Steve shrieked as he fell, his stomach slapping painfully against the surface of the river while Bucky cackled like a madman behind him. When Steve surfaced, shaking his head like a dog, he saw Bucky bowed forward with his hands on his stomach while he positively _howled _with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, real funny, wise-guy,” Steve griped as he paddled to the riverbank. “At least help me out?”

Bucky recovered a little as he walked to the edge of the river, though he was still giggling, and he grabbed Steve's hand with both of his own. For a moment, Steve acted as though he really needed the help, then he shot Bucky with a wicked smirk.

Bucky seemed to discover precisely what Steve had been planning less than a second before it actually happened, and he let out a high yelp of his own as Steve dragged Bucky forward and right into the water.

“You _ass!_” Bucky shouted as he surfaced, hair hanging in his face like some kind of river-monster, laughing as he jumped on Steve's back and tried to pull him under.

Steve let himself be dunked under the water, grinning as turned under the water in order to grab Bucky by the legs and tug him down in retaliation, then they both surfaced at nearly the same time, cackling like a pair of mad men as they splashed each other wildly.

They wrestled in the water for so long that Steve truly lost track of time, the sun dipping a little in the sky before Steve finally shouted, “_mercy!_” with a laugh Bucky relented, then together the pair swam back to the bank.

The pair stripped off their soaked clothing, and Steve wandered into the woods in search of some dry wood. When he glanced back to Bucky, he chuckled as he spotted the alpha wriggling a sodden tinderbox out of his pocket, and he shot Steve a glare like it was his fault, though there was too much good humour in his expression for it to really feel menacing.

With the sun beating down on his back, Steve could feel his skin and hair drying quickly, even as he loaded up his arms with dry wood for a fire.

When Steve got back, he saw that Bucky had lain out his pieces of flint in the direct sunlight, and by now they appeared to be mostly dry. Steve responded to the sight of the little stones by handing Bucky a few dry, leaf-covered branches for tinder, which Bucky accepted with a smile.

Steve let Bucky take care of actually getting the fire started, a technique Steve had never quite mastered without the benefit of matches while he took care of finding a few long, sturdy branches to hang their clothes from to ensure that they'd dry.

Then, with Bucky still trying to make the fire catch, while the wind was _not _cooperating with his efforts, Steve waded into the water again to try and catch some lunch.

~*~

“Question?”

“Hm?” Bucky looked up at Steve from his place. He was lounging on the ground with his head in Steve's lap, the remnants of their fish lunch discarded into the river to avoid attracting any scavengers, while their clothes were stiff and mostly dry, though they hadn't bothered to get dressed yet.

“Why are you suddenly okay with not watching Clint like a hawk?” Steve asked, and snorted when a startled look crossed Bucky's face, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I'm not an idiot, Bucky, I know you didn't trust my mom with our cub. So...why the change of heart?”

“Jim,” Bucky replied with a grimace that could have been apologetic, though Steve wasn't completely sure. “Pulled me aside and gave me a real earful about how that was your mom, and _do you really think Steve's mother would try anything against us_, and how you're so good so obviously your mother must be good too...”

Bucky trailed off, and sighed. He looked so guilty that Steve didn't feel inclined to point out that he hadn't exactly apologized yet.

“You're just protective of our cub,” Steve filled in as he reached down to pet Bucky's hair, making the alpha sigh softly. “I think, considering all the stuff that happened, anyone would be.”

“But I still wasn't being fair, I know that,” Bucky insisted as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “You know your mother better than I do, so if you trust her, then I should trust her.”

“But you're also an alpha at heart,” Steve filled in as he cradled Bucky's chin in his hand. “You know..._pigheaded._”

Bucky snorted as he pushed Steve's hand away, and in the same breath he dragged Steve forward and kissed him hard on the mouth.

“It's a good thing you're so pretty,” Bucky teased, whispering the words against Steve's mouth, “'cause I think I'd have to _punish _any one else who talked to me like that...”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, reaching out to dig his fingers into Bucky's hips in order to pull him closer. “And why do I gotta have special treatmen—_oof!_”

Steve grunted as he fell flat on his back as Bucky clambered on top of him. The alpha had a Cheshire Cat look on his face, very much like a wolf who had just captured his prey.

“Oh, you don't want special treatment, do you, Alpha Mate?” Bucky purred, bowing forward so that his hair curtained around his face, somehow making him look scarier than before, and yet the expression caused Steve's cock to stir, which was both embarrassing and thrilling at the same time_._

“No, I've never been big on being treated special,” Steve replied smoothly, letting out a little gasp when Bucky leant in to nip at Steve's lower lip, while one hand trailed down Steve's front, stopping when it found his slowly hardening cock, and Bucky squeezed it gently.

Steve groaned, turning his head away from Bucky as he arched his hips into the contact, and again Bucky smirked as he reached up to grab Steve by the jaw, forcing Steve's eyes to meet his.

“Look at me, Alpha Mate,” Bucky commanded, his voice sweet and almost dangerous, like poisoned honey. “This is a _punishment_, after all.”

Steve's breath rattled in his lungs as he stared up at Bucky, trying hard not to blink, while Bucky began to leisurely stroke Steve's cock towards full hardness. He seemed to be enjoying teasing Steve, and didn't even pass a glance to his own rock-hard cock, all his focus fixed upon his mate.

“Good boy,” Bucky purred, even as Steve began to whine and squirm underneath him. At times like this, Bucky's words somehow always managed to make Steve feel _so small_, even when he was now taller than him. It was a nice sort of feeling, knowing that even though he could now rely on himself to do things, he could still rely on Bucky whenever he needed to. Bucky even made him feel that way _before_ the Bite, but now it seemed more...pronounced.

It was nice—_good._

Not that Steve really had much time to be introspective, not when Bucky's labour-worn hands felt so _good_ against his sensitive cock. It felt like ages since they'd last been intimate(though, in reality, it couldn't've been more than a few days), and Bucky seemed to be enjoying the act of turning Steve into little more than a puddle of goo right there on the riverbank. He barely showed any strain at all as he fisted his hands harder and harder over Steve's cock, while Steve, in turn, groaned and keened while he tried, in vain, to stave off his orgasm for just a little bit longer in the hope that the feeling of Bucky's hands on him would _never _end.

It was useless of course, and Steve came with a shout, bucking his hips as he shot his load over Bucky's hand and stomach, while Bucky milked every last drop of cum out of his mate, smirking down at him as he did so.

Bucky only stopped when Steve let out a shuddering sort of gasp of oversensitivity, and he let Steve's cock go. Bucky kept on smiling as he leant in to kiss Steve slowly, languorously, the cooling cum still painting his body seeming to be an afterthought while he cradled Steve's chin and kept kissing him, reminding Steve just how much Bucky loved him.

Eventually, the feeling of cold fluids did nothing for either of them, and they hopped back into the river to clean up. The cool water did nothing at all to dim Bucky's clear arousal, and now that Steve had been given time to rest, he at last felt _up_ to the task of helping his alpha with that.

Without saying a word, Steve swam over to the riverbank and pressed himself up against it, ass pointing outward and towards Bucky. His Alpha seemed to understand immediately what Steve was hinting at, and Steve grinned inwardly as he watched Bucky's eyes glaze over with lust.

Bucky was already breathing hard by the time he bracketed Steve with his arms, and he shuddered with anticipation when he felt Bucky's cock bump the very top of his thigh. Steve laughed before he could stop himself when it became clear Bucky was struggling to find a comfortable position that would give him decent leverage.

“You okay back there, Buck?” Steve teased, and Bucky responded with a huff of annoyance.

“Shaddap,” he retorted as he pinched Steve's right ass cheek, and Steve laughed again.

It took a few minutes of awkward shuffling to find a spot along the bank that worked for them both. Bucky stood on a slippery rock a little too eagerly, and yelped when he skidded right off it and fell back into the water, making Steve howl with laughter. Bucky retaliated with a splash in Steve's direction, while Steve elected not to strike back, otherwise he'd _never _get his ass fucked.

To Steve's delight, they got there in the end, with him bowed over the bank with his ass hanging halfway out of the water. Bucky sucked on two fingers before he pressed them against Steve's hole, and laughed a little, though this time Steve wasn't completely sure what Bucky was laughing at.

“Damn, you're so _eager_,” Bucky murmured as he teased Steve's entrance without pushing in just yet. “Twitching back here like you can't _wait _for me to get in you...”

“Keep teasing me and I'll show you what an unfucked Alpha Mate really looks like,” Steve countered, and Bucky snorted loudly.

“Your threats are so cute, doll,” Bucky teased, and Steve felt himself flush pink at the term of endearment, though it quickly shifted to a moan as Bucky _finally_ slipped his fingers inside.

Steve groaned appreciatively as he spread his legs farther apart, and he heard Bucky chortle behind him. He seemed to know that Steve didn't need much in the way of preparation, and he only stretched Steve's hole for a handful of seconds before he retracted his fingers and spat into his hand.

Bucky grabbed hold of Steve's hip with one hand, while the other submerged to guide Bucky's cock to Steve's hole. Steve groaned appreciatively, pushing back against Bucky, and his alpha snorted with laughter at Steve's enthusiasm, but seemed to decide against commenting on it as he moved his other hand to Steve's opposite hip, then promptly thrust in the rest of the way.

Having sex under water wasn't exactly as elegant as Steve had pictured, but it was still _good._

Bucky splashed as he pounded into Steve's ass, the water swirling around them as they tried to find a rhythm, and Steve all but _shouted _his pleasure, little zings coursing through him whenever Bucky managed to hit _that spot _inside him. In a distant sort of way, Steve couldn't help but wonder if maybe the pack could hear them considering all the noise they were making, but then Bucky pounded into him again, and Steve firmly decided that he didn't care.

It didn't take Bucky all that long to cum, probably because he'd been holding out for so long. His fingers dug deep into Steve's hips, hard enough to bruise, and he grunted as he bit down on the back of Steve's neck and drove _deep _into his alpha mate, then stiffened as he orgasmed.

Even as Bucky went all pliant, he wasted no time in circling one arm around to Steve's front, and he stroked Steve swiftly.

Steve came with a cry, then the pair of them sagged against the bank as they tried to catch their breath.

They floated together, so relaxed that it was a wonder that the two of them didn't drift off with the current. Bucky mumbled something about getting out and drying off by their dying fire, and Steve _thought_ he vocalised some kind of agreement, but neither of them actually moved.

That is, until Gabe burst through the trees as a wolf, then swiftly changed back to his human form.

“It's Clint,” Gabe said when both Steve and Bucky jolted up at his sudden appearance. “He's been hurt.”


	24. Harm and Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am just gong to apologize ahead of time for any mistakes in this (very long) update. This was Week 2 of editing my original horror story collection so needless to say, I'm completely wiped. I cannot say any more on that front without getting in trouble with AO3, so let's leave it there, shall we? Next update is scheduled for February 28th, and the chapter count has been increased a little, so after this one we have about 2 chapters to go. Enjoy!
> 
> **Content Warning: Violence, Mild Gore, Blood in a Medical Setting**

Chapter Twenty-Four – Harm and Healing

Steve wasn't even able to tell Bucky to wait before he was up and out of the water. He shifted forms even as he ran, and the black wolf shot into the cover of the trees with the speed of a bullet.

Knowing how protective of Clint Bucky could be, Steve didn't waste any time. He stopped only long enough to nod at Gabe in thanks before he shifted forms, and he took off after his mate.

Thankfully, holding his wolf form was relatively easy for Steve now. With all the practice lessons Bucky had been giving him when their bond had fractured some months earlier, Bucky wouldn't let up until Steve could hold the form for a full day without issue. The practice had definitely paid off, and it certainly was a blessing now as Steve hurried after the scent of Bucky, following it easily through the woods, and it led Steve directly back home.

As Steve had anticipated, the scene within their territory was absolute _chaos. _

Steve could hear the screaming and shouting well before he saw anyone, along with poor little Clint's high screams of absolute agony. Then, to Steve's mounting horror, he heard the distinctive sound of skin-on-skin contact, telling him that someone had just thrown a punch.

Steve broke through the trees, and as he skidded to a halt he could see precisely what happened before anyone had even noticed his arrival.

Clint was lying on his back below one of the taller trees that circled the area. About five feet up was a narrow branch that Clint had been known to swing off of when no one was watching him. Except now the branch was broken, and Steve could see it discarded a little way's away from the tree. Clint was laying beneath the tree in question with one leg sticking out at an odd angle, and he was positively _screaming _bloody murder.

Sarah was shielding Clint with her body. Next to her was an open first-aid kit, while Dum-Dum was crumpled on the ground with lip split open while Bucky loomed over him, naked and positively _furious._

“Jesus, Alpha, she's a _nurse!_” Dum-Dum cried out, ducking a second swing from the alpha, who seemed almost beyond reason at the moment. “She didn't do anything to hurt Clint, she's trying to help—_ah!_”

Dum-Dum sagged farther into the ground when Bucky hit him again, the alpha's lips curled back in a furious snarl. It wasn't clear if Bucky was mad at Dum-Dum for what had happened or if he was just trying to get him out of the way in order to go after Steve's _mother, _but honestly, Steve didn't much care either way.

He _needed_ to protect his mother.

Still in his wolf form, Steve raced forward and planted himself firmly between Bucky and the others, his lip curled back in a snarl.

“Steve, get out of the way!” Bucky barked, while Sarah took the opportunity to gather Clint into her arms while Dum-Dum snatched up the first-aid supplies, and both of them bolted for the house. Jim, Morita, and Jacques were quick to follow, with Jim following Sarah and Dum-Dum inside, while the other two stood in front of the door, clearly guarding it.

Bucky didn't waste time and tried to follow Sarah the moment she fled, but Steve wasn't about to let Bucky act this way when all his mother was trying to do was _help _Clint.

Steve shifted position, moving in front of the doorway with his teeth bared, making it clear that he wasn't letting Bucky get _anywhere _near his mother.

“Get the _fuck _out of my way Steve,” Bucky snarled, his eyes almost seeming to glow with fury, and his muscles were visibly twitching, almost like it was proving a real trial for him to stay still and even speak when all his instincts were telling him to go to his cub.

Steve responded by letting out another growl of warning. Bucky smiled at him with a look that was almost _mocking_, and it made a sick sort of feeling pool in the pit of Steve's stomach.

“You really wanna do this, Steve?” Bucky asked, the lilt in his voice that implied that Steve had no _chance _in a real fight against Bucky. “I'm still Alpha; if I say move, you're supposed to move.”

Steve moved, but not in the direction Bucky was probably hoping for.

Steve leapt forward, teeth bared, and Bucky seemed to realize what Steve was about to do mere seconds before it actually happened.

Steve's teeth sank into a mix of wolf fur and skin, and Bucky snarled in anger and pain as the Alpha Mate bit down _hard _as he drove him into the ground.

Bucky hit the dirt so forcefully that it almost seemed to tremble under them. In his periphery, Steve could see that Jacques and Morita had moved into fighting stances, though they had maintained their human shape for the time being. Steve hoped they were on his side; he knew that all hell would break loose if he lost control of Bucky right now.

Bucky wasn't one to be held down however, and with a snarl of his own he rolled the pair of them across the ground until he was on top, and bolted for the door again. Steve feigned dizziness from the move only until Bucky turned his back on him, then Steve rammed the black wolf in the side, but it only caused Bucky to skid his paws across the dirt, not fall.

Bucky turned his attention back to his mate. He bared his teeth in warning, but he hesitated and didn't immediately attack, almost like he was afraid of hurting his mate. Steve had no such qualms; he felt the weight of that _need _to protect not just his mother but Clint and the rest of the pack as well, realizing that Bucky would tear through each and every one of them in his effort to protect their cub if he needed to.

The two wolves circled each other, eyes fixed in a dangerous staring contest. Steve thought it was pretty clear that Bucky was waiting for him to back off and give in, like he'd suddenly forgotten just _who _Steve was, and how stubborn he could be when push came to shove.

_I can do this all day, _Steve thought.

Bucky seemed to figure that out a little quicker than Steve had been expecting, and he leapt for Steve with his jaws wide open.

Steve let out a yelp as Bucky slammed into him, knocking Steve to the ground as he sank his teeth into his foreleg. Steve tried to shake him off, but Bucky wouldn't let go. He dug his teeth in harder, almost like he was trying to break Steve's leg the same way Clint had, and Steve howled in pain.

Unwilling to let Bucky hobble him, Steve reached out with his teeth to bite at the closest thing he could reach, which just so happened to be Bucky's ear, and Steve bit down—_hard._

Bucky lurched back with a high, yelping cry that seemed to be born of surprise rather than actual pain. Bucky tore himself away, and the moment that he was out of Steve's reach he leapt forward again, this time with his jaws aimed for Steve's throat.

Steve wasn't in the right place to deflect it, and he grunted as Bucky knocked him into his back, biting down hard enough to cut off Steve's airway.

Steve choked as he kicked his legs up, but Bucky held firm. He growled around his mouthful of fur and flesh, eyes darkened with fury like he'd forgotten who Steve was, and only viewed him as some kind of enemy.

Steve truly began to panic when his kicks and struggling did not cause Bucky to release him. He couldn't breathe, and his vision was dancing with dark spots. If he couldn't get the other wolf to let him go he was going to pass out, and then there would be nothing to stop Bucky from tearing through everyone who stood in between him and his cub.

Like some kind of miracle, Clint suddenly let out an almighty shriek of pain from somewhere inside the cabin, so loud that Steve could hear it perfectly from outside. Logically, he could assume that the sound had come from his mother resetting the poor cub's leg, but to Bucky it must have sounded more like someone was _attacking_ their cub.

Even so, Steve still considered it lucky that Clint had screamed when he did, as it caused Bucky to let go of Steve's throat and run full-tilt towards the cabin once more.

Steve forced himself up, shaking his head and gasping for breath even as his vision swam and his head pounded. His usually pristine white fur was stained red in several places, but all of the wounds felt fairly shallow, like Bucky was still holding back a from seriously harming him.

Steve staggered when he tried to move forward. Jacques and Morita looked nervously back at Bucky. By their stance, Steve got the distinct impression that neither of them were exactly willing to take on their alpha.

_I have to protect them too._

Steve forced himself to move. He caught up to Bucky, and bit down on his tail as hard as he could. Bucky cried out in alarm and pain when a loud _pop! _sounded through their territory, and Bucky whirled around to face Steve, his tail hanging limply, even as he tried to keep it raised in a show of dominance.

Steve didn't hesitate this time. His family was in danger because of _Bucky_. He had to stop him. He had to stop his mate before he hurt someone.

Steve leapt before Bucky had fully recovered from his injury, his vision narrowed to a point as he sank his jaws into Bucky's throat and tasted blood.

It was a slower trickle, not a spurt, meaning that his bite had landed where he'd intended, and avoided the major arteries. Bucky struggled against the hold, tearing his own flesh in his desperation to get away, but Steve held firm, growling, forcing the alpha to _stand down. _

“_Steven Grant Rogers!_” a voice shrieked, and Steve dropped Bucky in surprise, but not soon enough apparently, and he let out a yelp as his mother swatted him on the rump with a rolled up newspaper like he was some kind of misbehaving dog.

Steve whined as he turned around to his mother, and saw that she was wearing an apron that was dusted with flour and her hands were white with some kind of gooey substance. Even so, that didn't stop Steve from gazing at his mother imploringly, and she shook her head firmly.

“Do _not _give me that look, Steven,” she said. “Honestly, fighting like a pair of angry barn cats, what _has _gotten into you two?! What would your son think if he saw you two fighting like that?! You clean yourself up and bring that poor boy inside. It looks like I'll have my hands full with patients tonight...” she shook her head, then her brow fixed back into an angry look as she glared at her son, and pointed towards the door. “Both of you, inside. _Now.”_

Steve felt his ears droop as he moved to shift forms back to human, and through the painful transformation, he almost laughed when he heard his ma speaking gently to Bucky, telling him, “oh no, dear, you stay just like that. Resetting that tail will be much more comfortable in that form—_believe_ me.”

Steve shook off the twitchy after-effects of his change, and carefully gathered a sour-looking Bucky into his arms. The sudden appearance of Sarah seemed to have startled Bucky out of his murderous rage, and now he just looked..._annoyed._

Seeing all of Bucky's injuries through human eyes was a sobering experience for Steve, especially now that his ma had effectively snapped them both out of their Protective Alpha states. It really was hard to believe that _he'd _done all this damage to Bucky, and not some sort of external threat.

Steve wanted to apologize, but he didn't really know how to do it without it feeling shallow. How was he supposed to say _sorry_ after everything he'd done?

Sarah marched them inside, utterly ignoring her son's nakedness, and once they got inside Steve saw that the sofa was taken up my Clint.

The little boy's face was tear-stained, but he was notably calmer. He was lapping at one of the homemade maple suckers they'd made in early spring and his leg had been trussed up in wooden splints and some kind of wet bandages. Jim seemed to be trying to dry with a handheld fan, while he gently pet Clint's hair and reminded him to keep still.

“Set him down on the carpet, son,” Sarah instructed while she walked to the kitchen to wash her hands. “And Bucky, try not to move that tail. I'll be with you in a moment.”

Bucky's ears went back, and Steve smiled weakly as he settled Bucky down carefully on the rug. If Steve had to take a guess, it seemed like Bucky was finally starting to work out that Sarah wasn't planning to hurt anyone. It also looked like he was wondering why Sarah was even helping _him _to start with, considering he'd been a step away from killing her not too long ago.

Steve carded his fingers through Bucky's thick fur, and his alpha let out a soft whine while he looked up at Steve with sad eyes.

“I know,” Steve whispered softly, “I'm sorry too.”

Bucky tried to wag his tail, then stiffened like he'd forgotten about the injury. Steve kept petting him while Sarah came back over, this time snapping on a pair of surgical gloves as she went, and Bucky tensed up a little as he watched her approach.

“Now, Bucky, try not to move,” Sarah said gently as she knelt down next to them. “This will probably hurt rather a lot...”

Sarah reached out to gently feel along the break in Bucky's tail. He tensed and whined, but he didn't attack her outright, which Steve thought was probably some kind of progress.

“Hmm...looks like you just dislocated it, sweetheart,” Sarah said to Steve with a smile. “The only problem is there are rather a lot of nerves in the tails of animals, and if I set it manually as I did with Clint, there's a fair chance I could pinch a nerve and cause more damage.”

“Are we supposed to just...leave it like that?” Steve asked, looking between Bucky and his mother at he spoke. “I mean...won't that hurt more?”

“I imagine so, but I'm not a veterinarian,” Sarah said as she gazed down at Bucky. “As I see it, there are two options, and both will be quite painful. First, we could amputate the tail at the site of the dislocation. This would probably be the safest thing to do, as we're not exactly in a sterile environment. The second option would be to re-set the bone surgically to ensure I don't hit any nerves.”

“But...can you do that?” Steve asked nervously. “I mean...Ma, I know you're good, but you're not exactly a surgeon.”

“I have been in an operating room enough times to know what I'm doing, but not enough for it to be quick,” Sarah explained patiently, like she wasn't at all offended by Steve's comment. I leave this option up to Bucky, but either way we _must _try to sterilize a space to perform in—I do not want my son-in-law getting an infection.”

“We can prepare one of the bedrooms,” Jim offered from where he was still fanning poor Clint's leg. Steve felt like the plaster was taking an awful long time time dry, but he didn't say anything. “We have extra sheets somewhere, we can just lay everything down in there.”

“That will have to do,” Sarah replied with a sigh. “All right, everyone not injured, please prepare a space.”

The pack obeyed her without pause, and Sarah moved over to Clint to see how he was doing. Steve kept his attention on Bucky, who looked particularly upset about the proceedings. His ears were pinned flat to his head and his eyes were a wide, like he was scared.

“I bet that's a lot to take in, huh?” Steve murmured as he pet him, and checked the wounds at Bucky's throat. They were still bleeding a little, but most of the blood seemed to have coagulated already. “Which do you think sounds better? Option one, amputation. Ma will just chop off your tail at the break, then bandage you up. It'll take like two seconds.”

Bucky growled and narrowed his eyes at Steve. Clearly, he didn't like that idea.

“Okay,” Steve said, trying to sound like a properly concerned partner, but his voice shook a little with laughter. “Option two would be the surgery Ma talked about. I have no clue how she knows so much about dog tails, but she always used to say that she _knows a little about a lot of things_, so maybe that has something to do with it.”

Steve paused, and smiled softly at Bucky. He didn't really react to option two, which he thought probably meant that that was the one he wanted. Knowing Bucky though, Steve was almost one hundred percent _sure _that it was for a stupid vanity reason, like the way he snapped at anyone who suggested he trim his hair to make the summer heat more bearable.

As much as he wanted to argue the point, Steve didn't see much point, especially when Bucky couldn't answer back to him. He just kept petting Bucky, only dimly aware of his own wounds, which were mostly shallow in comparison. He was only really aware of his forearm injury, especially now that the adrenaline had mostly worn out. His arm radiated pain, though he didn't want to be looked at until _after _Bucky was all fixed up.

“Okay, we're just about ready to go,” Sarah said kindly as she moved away from Clint, who seemed to have fallen asleep, and back over to Steve and Bucky. “Has the patient picked a procedure?”

“I think he wants the surgery, not the amputation,” Steve filled in, and Bucky nodded his head in agreement.

“I see,” Sarah said with a long sigh, and she sat down with them again. “Honestly I was hoping you would have chosen amputation, Bucky, as that would be safer, but I can understand why would might rather the surgery.

“Now, we don't have any anaesthetic on hand, so this _will _hurt. I am not a surgeon, as I said, but I do know what I am doing. Steve and I will be with you—”

“—what d'you mean, _Steve and I?_” Steve interrupted, his voice going a little more weak than he would have liked, and he glared at Morita and Jacques, who had started to snicker quietly.

“I need a helper, Steven,” Sarah replied smoothly, like she hadn't been interrupted. “It will be difficult for him to remain still without any pain killers. I need you to hold him down while I work. Jim will be helping with the procedure itself.”

“You don't have to look at any of the scary blood, Alpha Mate, just help keep Alpha from moving too much,” Jim teased, and Steve felt his face and neck warm up from the gentle barb. He had a feeling it was gonna be _months _before he lived this one down.

“After the procedure I believe it will be safe for you to change back,” Sarah continued, smiling at Bucky kindly before she glanced over to Jim, who nodded his head in confirmation.

“As long as everything is set in the right place, it'll cause less damage to shift back,” Jim filled in. “Broken bones are a bit trickier, but a dislocation is nothing. Technically it'd be easier to fix in his human state, but—”

“—then why is he still wolf?” Dum-Dum interjected from his spot on the floor. He was holding a rag to his lip, and there were a few dark bruises blossoming on his cheeks. “If it's easier in human skin, he should shift.”

“Steven, do you think Bucky would appreciate the _human _method for fixing such a dislocation?” Sarah asked mildly, “unless I'm very much mistaken, a tail would logically be the _tailbone _in a human. Would your Bucky rather I do it when he's human?

Steve and Jim to started laughing, while everyone else looked _very _confused.

“Let's just say it'd involve Jim or my Ma sticking their fingers in a _very _private place,” Steve filled in once he'd calmed down, remembering his own tailbone dislocation as a teen, and the wildly embarrassing procedure that followed.

Thankfully Bucky seemed to get the gist of it, and whined as he tried to curl up, hiding his bum from Sarah, who chuckled at him warmly.

“Don't worry, my dear,” she said with another kind smile directed towards Bucky. “We can do it the hard way, and I'll take good care of you—I _promise_.”

~*~

By a stroke of luck, the room that the pack had been constructing for Sarah turned out to be the ideal place to proceed with the surgery. It was empty and the walls had all been installed with no window as of yet. Every surface had all been covered with sheeting, and more bedding had been used as makeshift scrubs for Steve, Sarah, and Jim, including face and hair coverings(along with a pair of pants for Steve, given that he was still very much naked).

Steve had been tasked with carefully shaving around Bucky's tail where the surgery would be. While he worked on that Sarah and Jim thoroughly scrubbed their hands and forearms, then each of them put on a pair of fresh surgical gloves. The tools Sarah planned to use had been dipped in a few fingers of Gabe's homemade moonshine and then the alcohol was burnt off in the fireplace, getting as close to sterile as they possibly could.

When Sarah deemed that they were all ready, Steve carried Bucky to the makeshift OR, then carefully laid a blanket over Bucky from neck to the base of his tail like his ma instructed. Steve then lay at Bucky's back and wrapped his arms around him, holding him still while Sarah and Jim knelt down around his tail with about a half-dozen oil lamps as well as Sarah's electric flashlights that she'd had in her bag to ensure that everything was illuminated properly.

“All right, dear,” Sarah said, addressing Bucky, “here we go...”

Steve felt Bucky tense up as Sarah cut into him, and Bucky shuddered as he let out a whine of pain, but otherwise didn't move.

Steve kissed Bucky's head, arms tense around him, but his position (thankfully) stopped him from actually seeing anything. He could handle butchering an animal just fine, but his stomach just _churned _at the idea of seeing Bucky like that.

Which Steve knew was incredibly hypocritical of him, considering it had been _him _who had injured Bucky in the first place.

For twenty long minutes Bucky lay there in Steve's arms, trembling from the effort it took to remain still. His mother and Jim worked quietly, until Steve heard his ma say, “all right, Bucky, we're going to pop the bone back into place. Are you ready?”

She paused, and Bucky whined in affirmation.

“All right,” she said, “one—”

Steve heard the sickening squelch of the bone popping back into place, and Bucky let out a startled yelp of pain.

“All done, my dear,” Sarah announced proudly. “If you'd be so kind as to change back, we'll stitch you up. I have a feeling that if we stitched you beforehand, the stitches would probably tear something awful.”

“It's true,” Jim filled in with warm good humour in his voice. “Just shift back, Alpha—we're nearly done.”

Bucky complied, shifting back to his human form, and Steve watched the open wound on his tail move to the small of his back, tearing a little in the process, but Bucky acted like he couldn't even feel it. Steve found himself surprised by how high the wound had moved, but he didn't remark on it. He didn't think now was the right time to discuss that.

Steve kept his arms around Bucky all through his change, and whispered, “_sorry,_” apologizing yet again for being the one to have caused all this. Bucky acted like he couldn't hear him, though he did lean into Steve's embrace, which Steve thought was probably a good thing.

Sarah cleaned and stitched up the wound on Bucky's back, then she placed a bandage over it before she moved onto the wounds at his neck. She offered those injuries the same treatment, then she tended to the smaller wounds that had been inflicted on him. Bucky accepted all of it without a word, his eyes downcast as he stared at his lap, even as Sarah prattled on about how she hadn't realised that his tail wound would travel so far up his back, and how it was a really good thing that he hadn't tried to shift earlier, as it probably would have been excruciating.

Steve didn't think Bucky was really listening, but he obeyed without a word when Sarah declared him _all fixed up, _and told him to go rest.

Bucky shuffled out of the room as hastily as he could manage with his back injury, and Steve felt a little sick to his stomach as he watched his mate walk out of the makeshift O.R. with his head bowed, like a scolded puppy.

“It might be a good idea to give him a little space, sweetheart,” his ma advised while she took hold of Steve's arm without asking, and began to inspect his injury. “Men like your Bucky...it's sometimes hard to admit it when they're wrong. I imagine that the realization that I neither harmed him or your son is taking a bit of a toll on him.”

“That's ridiculous though,” Steve complained, wincing as his ma prodded at his arm. In a strange way, he really hadn't noticed how much it hurt until now. “I've never said a word against you, not even when Ed first dumped me out here. I just don't get why he'd think you were a danger to Clint.”

“An alpha's need to protect runs very deep,” Jim supplied as he stepped back into the room, arms full of fresh supplies.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, though he was careful to keep still while his ma continued to inspect his injury. “So deep that it doesn't penetrate their thick skull?”

“You are _not _one to talk about hard-headedness, my dear,” his ma interjected, and Steve felt his face redden while Jim laughed.

“It's more than just logical thinking,” Jim filled in once he'd calmed down. “An alpha might hear a cry of pain, see someone standing over their cub, and the sound will shift their instincts to something more primal. They will feel a deep need to get their cub away from whatever they see as the threat, and in essence destroy anything that gets in their way. In that state, they will have no concept of people _trying to help. _They'll only see people in between him and his cub.”

“Which would explain why he tried to kill ma, and Dum-Dum, and me,” Steve filled in with a long sigh, and Jim nodded.

“Not many Alpha Mates have the capability to stop their Alpha if they find themselves in such an instinct-driven state,” Jim offered. “We're very lucky you were here today, Steve.”

Steve wasn't so sure that was true, but he didn't argue the point. Instead he offered the two of them a humble smile, which they returned.

Even though his ma had probably spent half her life patching Steve up or tending to him in some way, Steve was embarrassed to say he never paid much attention to what his ma did. All he really knew was that she did things, and made people better.

It was the same at this moment, not quite understanding why she needed to tap on parts of his hand and asked Steve if he could feel the contact. She also asked him to move his hands in certain ways, and to tell her when it hurt.

His ma, for whatever reason, didn't seem to like all of his answers. When she tapped his middle and ring fingers, Steve mentioned that they felt a little numb. When he tried to curl his hand into a fist, it hurt like almighty hell.

Sarah cleaned the wound without a word, stitched it up, and wrapped his forearm in bandages. She then moved on to inspect all his other cuts and bruises, though most of them were minor in comparison.

“By my guess you've got yourself a slightly torn ligament and some damage to the nerves in there,” Sarah explained while she peeled off her gloves and tapped Steve gently on the back of his hand. “Normally I'd say the nerve damage would be permanent, but Jim tells me you werewolf types have a _ridiculous_ capacity to heal.”

“We do,” Jim confirmed with a warm laugh, as though he knew that Sarah's words weren't meant to be offensive. “A moon or two will probably regenerate your nerves, so you'll get the feeling back in no time, but you'll scar something awful. Wounds afflicted by another wolf don't always heal the same.”

“And what about the ligament stuff?” Steve asked as he tried to squeeze his hand into a fist again, but it hurt too much to do so.

“You need to rest it,” Sarah said, a firm note to her voice as she gazed at her son. “No heavy lifting for a while, Steve. If the full moon is what you need to feel better, then I hope that will help, but until then I want you to not take on too much with all the work you boys do.”

“So you're probably back on Cub Duty,” Jim said teasingly, and Steve laughed.

“I thought you said I need to _rest,_” Steve joked back, and both Jim and Sarah laughed.

“Yes, that boy _is _a handful, but he won't be running anywhere for a little while yet,” Sarah replied as she cast her gaze to the door, and frowned. “I am sorry, Steve, for my part in what happened.”

“What _did _happen, anyway?” Steve asked as he stood up and began to try and help Jim gather up the remaining medical supplies, but the wolf just shooed him away. “In all the chaos, we never got to that part.”

“Clint wanted to show me how good of a climber he was,” Sarah explained, and Steve winced. He could already tell where this was going. “But he's still so young so I stood close to him while he climbed, ready to catch him if he fell. But Dum-Dum suddenly called my name, and I turned my head at the wrong moment. The branch snapped when Clint got to it, and when I turned around I was too slow, and missed the poor boy as he fell to the ground. I suppose it's lucky that it was just his leg, and he didn't hurt his head.”

She hung her head guiltily, and Steve smiled at his mother sadly. He reached for his ma and drew her into a hug, one which Sarah returned readily.

“It's okay, Ma, you don't need to feel guilty,” Steve murmured into her hair. “He's definitely a handful, and we all have to watch him like a bunch 'a hawks. One little mistake doesn't make you a bad grandma. Plus, you were here when it really counted—I doubt any one of us could re-set a bone like you can. We'd all be too petrified of hurting him to do it.”

“Oh, part of being a nurse is knowing that sometimes a moment of pain can save a life,” Sarah replied, smiling as she reached out to pat Steve's cheek fondly. “I was glad to help, even if all this mess was my fault to start with.”

Steve tried to reassure his ma, and he reiterated that none of this was her fault, but she didn't seem to believe him. Instead he gave in and just let her admit her wrongdoing as they all stepped back out to the living room while Steve reluctantly mentioned that he should probably go and check on Bucky.

“Don't let him snap at you, Alpha Mate,” Jim offered as they slowed to a stop. The couch was empty, and by the direction Clint's scent was coming from, Steve could easily assume that the boy had been carefully transported to his bedroom.

“Yeah,” Dum-Dum added gruffly. He'd finally gotten rid of the towel he'd been holding to his face, and he looked about as banged-up as before. Honestly, it hurt Steve a little to look at him. “Alpha's real good at the whole _shouldering guilt _thing, and he'll probably be a complete misery for a few days. Just...don't let his bad mood get to you.”

“I'll try to remember that,” Steve replied with a wry smirk as he stood up.

Steve gazed around at everyone—at Dum-Dum, Morita, and Gabe squished together on the couch. At Jacques in the kitchen throwing together a mountain of sandwiches, and Jim and his ma putting away all the medical supplies before they washed their hands again. It warmed his heart so deeply to see how easily his ma meshed in with the pack, and it hurt Steve more than he was willing to admit that Bucky couldn't see it like he could.

After casting one last smile at the assembled pack, Steve turned and headed down the hall in order to check on his mate.


	25. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Second-to-Last Chapter! I can't believe it's almost over! I really hope you enjoy this instalment, and stay tuned for March 14th, when I post the final part of this story. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Five – Time

The door seemed to creak more loudly in the dark of the bedroom. It was barely midday, but Bucky had drawn the curtains and curled up in a ball on top of the bedding. Steve was pretty sure that had it been later in the season Bucky would definitely had hidden himself under a mount of blankets in order to sulk, but the ever-present choking heat didn't allow for that level of pouting.

“Go away, Steve,” Bucky grumbled before Steve could say anything, though Bucky spoke without any kind of warning growl.

“Uh huh, I'll definitely do that,” Steve replied as he moved deeper into the room, then sat on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand up Bucky's back, while being careful to avoid the bandage, and he felt Bucky shiver a little under his touch. “You okay?”

“No.”

“So...big scary Alpha wants to pout instead of tell his Alpha Mate what the hell's wrong?” Steve teased, and Bucky let out a little huff of annoyance.

“Yes.”

Steve's fingers slid the rest of the way up Bucky's back and wove into his hair. It was matted from sweat, most likely from the painful surgery he just went through. Instead of saying anything, Steve silently began to to comb out Bucky's hair with his fingers while he waited for his mate to speak.

“I'm embarrassed, _all right?_” Bucky finally snapped, and Steve bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. That much was pretty damn _obvious_. “I'm fucking embarrassed that I let my instincts get the best of me, and because of that I nearly killed your mother, all right? Is _that _what you want to hear?”

“You were in a feral state, trying to protect our cub,” Steve filled in while he continued to comb out Bucky's hair gently. “Of all people, my ma wouldn't hold that against you—and neither do I, by the way. People do crazy things when they think their family is in danger.”

“Alphas are supposed to know better than to listen to their feral fears,” Bucky muttered, and Steve felt his heart _ache _for him. “Maybe Alpha—my old alpha, I mean—was right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this.”

“Hey, don't talk like that, you're an _amazing_ alpha,” Steve said, and Bucky huffed like he didn't believe him. “You _are. _You're just...new at this. I mean, you found the ice cube version of me last winter, then the pack appeared a month or so later, then Clint came along in early spring. It's a lot of changes in a real short amount of time. No one is expecting you to be perfect, Bucky.”

“I just...keep screwing up in big ways.”

“I've never known you to do things by halves,” Steve retorted dryly, and when Bucky angled his head up to give Steve a _look_, he offered his mate an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“First the moon with you, when you were too _stupid_ to stay inside like I told you to, then your lungs not working, then—”

“—hey, hey,” Steve interrupted, his voice soft and gentle, which seemed to annoy Bucky just as much as his casual teasing remarks. “Hey, literally _none_ of those things were your fault. Why are you doing something so stupid as blaming yourself for _my_ health or _my_ choice to follow you when you left for that first moon?”

“Still feels like my fault,” Bucky grumbled, and Steve bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Lord knows he loved Bucky, but he was definitely the most dramatic person in the whole pack.

“So, you plan on just wallowing in all your mistakes instead of owning up to them?” Steve ventured while he shifted until he was spooning his alpha, and perched his head on Bucky's shoulder gently.

“Yes.”

“Good plan,” Steve murmured as he moved to kiss Bucky's bare shoulder, but unfortunately the small show of affection didn't garner any sort of response.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Bucky whined, sounding very much like a grumpy little kid in that moment.

“Would you rather I yell at you?”

“Yes.”

“Pitch a fit?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pick a fight in our wolf forms?” Steve finished, and when Bucky nodded Steve added, “we already did that one, remember?”

“I hate you,” Bucky grumbled, and Steve laughed as he pressed another kiss to Bucky's shoulder.

“I know,” Steve whispered. “I love you too.”

~*~

Steve laid with Bucky, holding him, but he didn't say anything. It was pretty clear that the alpha was still incredibly embarrassed over what happened, and he wasn't ready to actually do anything about it except mope.

Clint woke up at some point, and began to cry over his leg again. Jim offered him some kind of tea that knocked him out, then he carried the poor little boy to Steve and Bucky's room, perhaps in the hope that their scents would calm him and distract the boy from the pain.

Steve wasn't so sure about that, but the scent of Clint nearby definitely did a number on Bucky, who cuddled his cub while making soft chirruping sounds as he held him.

Steve couldn't help but smile as he watched the two of them. Clint looked so content, even with his leg all wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy. He was curled up against Bucky's chest, broken leg stretched out at an awkward angle, and his little fingers were twisted through Bucky's hair. In that moment, Steve realized that it probably hadn't been Steve that Bucky needed after what happened, but _Clint_.

Far from feel left out, Steve found himself desperately wanting to capture the moment. While Steve gazed around their dimly-lit room, and he smiled when he spotted one of the items that had been there since Steve had started living Bucky, but he'd never passed much thought to: a blank notebook, and some pens.

Carefully, Steve got off the bed and tiptoed across the room in order to pick up the book and pens. He sifted through the tiny pile of writing utensils, and he smiled when he located what he needed: a stick of charcoal.

Steve pulled his knife from his pocket and used it to sharpen the charcoal, then he sat on the edge of the bed while he flipped open the book, its spine creaking in that satisfying way that only a new book could, and he began to sketch.

~*~

“Hey, Steve,” Jim said as Steve stepped quietly out of the bedroom around suppertime, primarily to get the black off his hands. “How's—” Jim broke off, and his eyes widened. “What on earth happened to you?”

“Sketching,” his ma filled in without pause, and she smiled proudly at Steve. “Weren't you, son?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, a flush creeping its way up his cheeks as he smiled shyly at the knowing look his mother was giving him. “I just...needed to capture a moment.”

“Hell, I didn't know you could draw, Steve,” Morita remarked, looking up from his game of cards with Dum-Dum, who looked just as surprised by this new piece of information.

“Not much else to do when you're laid up in bed,” Steve replied with a shrug as he passed into the kitchen in order to grab the lye soap and give his hands a good scrub. “I was sick a lot as a kid.”

“You _don't _say,” Gabe said teasingly, and Steve huffed a laugh. “I mean, when we first met you, you were the _gold standard_ of healthy.”

Everyone laughed, even his ma, who seemed to be kneading bread while Jacques tended to an enormous pot on the stove. By the smell in the kitchen, it looked like they were having some kind of fish stew.

“And how are my grandson and son-in-law doing?” Sarah asked once the laughter had died down. Steve offered her a smile, putting off answering for a little bit longer while he focused on scrubbing his hands. It became pretty clear that he was taking too long however when Dum-Dum coughed pointedly, and Steve forced out an embarrassed laugh.

“Better,” he said at last, turning around to dry his hands on the seat of his pants, which made his ma tut, though she didn't remark on it more than that. “I think they needed a little time together to calm down after everything that happened.”

“Children have a calming effect,” Sarah agreed as she nodded her head in between firm kneads of the dough. “Oh, when you were a baby and your father was off and away, I'd just hold you and just for a moment it felt like the world wasn't coming to an end...”

“Off and away?” Morita asked curiously. “Where was he?”

“At war, I'm guessing,” Dum-Dum filled in as he laid out another card on the table in between himself and Morita. “Humans had a big ol' war about twenty or so years ago. They called it _the war to end all wars._”

“That sounds like pretty big war,” Morita remarked, and Steve bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. _A pretty big war_ was definitely one way to put it.

“That's one way to put it,” his ma said, and Steve smiled a bit. He liked how his ma and him were so...similar. Once again, he was reminded how nice it was to have his ma back. “He was gone for a little over a year. Truly, I felt blessed to get him back.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, smiling a little, though he didn't say anything as he finally finished drying his hands off, leaving them mostly free of charcoal stains. He'd deliberately left the book back in his and Bucky's room, as the sketch felt so..._personal. _He wasn't sure he was ready to share it with the pack yet. “So, watch'a makin'?”

For the next hour, Steve played cards with Dum-Dum and Morita while Sarah and Jacques worked on dinner. Jim was busy grinding up dried herbs and placing them in carefully labelled jars, which Steve knew were his herbal remedies for anything they could possibly come down with. Jim and Sarah had butted heads a couple times since his ma had arrived on herbal medicine versus modern drugs, but considering how cut off they were up here, Steve thought it made sense that they relied more heavily on the herbal stuff. Sure, it tasted awful, but it _worked._

Once the food was ready, Steve tiptoed back to his and Bucky's room to rouse Clint, who whined discontentedly at being woken up, but silenced himself immediately when Steve gently reminded him to be quiet.

Mindful of his leg, Steve gently gathered the boy into his arms and carried him to the table where they used a stack of books to elevate Clint's leg. Steve patted Clint's bed hair once before he headed to the kitchen to fill a platter with two bowls of the stew and some hunks of his ma's bread, then carried everything away from the table and towards his bedroom, where Bucky was still resting. As he went, he could hear Clint asking someone where Steve was off to, and he trusted his pack to give him a decent answer, as it was pretty obvious that Bucky wasn't ready to be around people yet.

Steve used his heel to knock on the door, and Bucky jolted a little, seemingly startled awake, and he gazed down blearily at his empty arms while he asked groggily, “where's Clint?”

“At the table, having supper,” Steve replied smoothly as he carried the huge tray into the room. “I didn't trust our cub to not spill stew all over our nice clean bed.”

“Fair,” Bucky replied, his voice barely above a mumble, though he still didn't look completely thrilled with being away from Clint, especially when he was in a vulnerable state. Thankfully, he accepted the food from Steve, and dug in immediately.

“How you feeling?” Steve asked as he settled in next to Bucky, and began to eat. The fact that Steve waited for Bucky to start eating first seemed to cheer him a little, or at least helped to relax the more primal parts of Bucky's minds that were still at play. Unfortunately, it didn't stop him from snorting at Steve's question.

“How the fuck do you think I'm feeling?” Bucky grumbled, and then immediately winced. “Sorry.”

“No harm done,” Steve replied as he carefully tilted to the side and kissed Bucky on the cheek. “You're allowed to feel like shit if you want to.”

“And you're allowed to be less chipper than a golden retriever if you like,” Bucky shot back, which caused Steve to let out a snort of laughter.

“I don't think anyone's called me that before,” Steve mused as he ate, and when he gently bumped Bucky's shoulder with his own in a playful move, the action earned him a tiny smile. The reaction made Steve hope that Bucky was almost finished with his self-imposed exile.

“Well, if they haven't noticed it before, they must be blind,” Bucky remarked as he bit a huge chunk of bread off his roll. “You're literally like the physical embodiment of a puppy.”

“I guess I could be worse things,” Steve mused as he dipped a piece of the bread into his stew before he ate it. “Like...a beaver.”

“A _beaver?_” Bucky demanded incredulously, and Steve grinned in response.

“It's the first thing I thought of,” Steve explained with a laugh, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You're ridiculous, Steve,” Bucky remarked as he popped another piece of bread into his mouth. “_Fuck_ this is good. When did you have time to bake today?”

“Oh, uh...” Steve hesitated, and glanced at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his mate's response, but Bucky's expression was distinctly blank and unassuming. “Uh...I didn't make the bread, my ma did.”

“Oh.” Bucky paused, and popped another piece into his mouth, which Steve hoped was a good sign. “Well...uh, give her my regards. It's damn good.”

“Would you get mad and rip your stitches if I suggested you do that yourself?” Steve hedged, watching Bucky for any sign of anger to his tentative proposition, but Bucky appeared relaxed, if a little sour. “'Cause...she's not mad at you, Buck. Like I said before, she understands better than most about how important protecting our cub is to you, and she's not holding it against you. Hell, I'm not gonna force you two to talk, but I just mean...she gets it, and she's not mad.”

Bucky didn't respond to Steve's tentative offer, but then Steve didn't really expect him to. He did look contemplative though, which Steve hoped was a positive sign. If he was really thinking about what had happened, maybe that meant he was _considering_ letting bygones be bygones.

For the rest of the night, Steve rotated between being with Bucky, and checking on the others. His ma seemed to be integrating seamlessly into the pack, which cheered Steve to no end.

Later that evening, Steve stepped out of the bedroom and found the group eating strawberry pie which Steve did not remember being there before. His ma pointed to the table without a word, and Steve spotted two neat slices were waiting for him and Bucky. His ma went back to her Gin Rummy game with the others without a word, but Steve thought the smile on her face might've been a little bit broader.

The pie seemed to smooth down some of Bucky's frayed edges. The pastry even calmed him enough that Bucky left the safety of his room in order to bid Clint goodnight, though their cub had decided to be difficult that night, fussing and complaining about how he wasn't tired yet.

Even with that tiny bit of progress, Bucky was still too embarrassed to face the others, and once Clint was fast asleep he retreated back to their bedroom.

“Still sulking?” Dum-Dum asked when Steve headed back to the living room, and he settled down at the end of the couch next to his ma, who was sipping a cup of herbal tea and smelled like mint.

“Behave,” Sarah admonished, though she was smiling as she said it. They had a cribbage board out between them, and Steve honestly had no idea where it had come from. The little playing pieces seemed to have gone missing, and they were playing with little sticks of wood, the ends hewn until they'd fit into the holes. “That poor boy has been through so much—he is allowed to come out of his room when he likes.”

“You're being much nicer to him than me when _I'd _hide in my room,” Steve noted teasingly, and his ma offered him a sidelong smirk.

“Naturally,” she replied. “_You _were just being silly, Steven. Poor Bucky needs a little time to rest. No one is in any hurry for him to return to us.”

Steve huffed a laugh as he shook his head and elected not to comment. He watched his ma absolutely _destroy _Dum-Dum, though Steve saw that coming the moment he spotted what game they'd been playing. Sarah Rogers was _not _a woman you bet against when it came to cribbage.

As night continued to press on, the last of the adrenaline seemed to leave Steve's system, and the fatigue that always followed hit him like a truck. He stayed awake as long as he could, watching his ma play game after game with Dum-Dum, while the others had clustered on the floor and were playing poker with bits of dried venison in lieu of poker chips.

Admittedly, Steve was doing little more than sitting and watching through hazy eyes, the peaceful scene accompanied by the soft, pleasant sounds of a crackling fire. The window was open wide, letting in a pleasant summer breeze, along with the sounds of the forest—chirping crickets, the soft hoot of owls, and the distant rustle of the other nightly woodland creatures.

“Go to bed, sweetheart,” his ma said suddenly, startling Steve a little when she touched his arm gently, just above his bandages. “It's been a long, trying day, and you deserve some good rest.”

Steve wasn't completely sure, but he thought that he may have grunted in agreement to his mother's gentle suggestion. The others called out various goodnights to him as he got up, but Steve was much too tired to hear them with any sort of clarity.

~*~

Inside his and Bucky's room Steve found Bucky fast asleep under a thin blanket. The window was wide open and the oil lamp had burned down to little more than a soft, warm ember.

When Steve walked over to the windowsill, he found the wood to be damp. The whipping wind that had begun to pour inside told Steve that a storm was certainly on its way, ending the miserably humid wave they'd been enduring for the last few days.

Steve heard a distant roll of thunder as he slid the window shut, and past the closed bedroom door, he could hear his ma telling the others to close up the house.

As tired as he was, Steve still moved into Clint's room to make sure that his window was closed, while the others had fanned out in order to hastily shut the windows and doors, and he heard Jim and Gabe race outside to make sure their garden and drying meats were properly protected from the oncoming storm.

Steve knew, logically, that he should be helping, but he was too exhausted to do more than crack the bedroom door back open and ask, “need help?” as Morita rushed past.

“Go to bed, Alpha Mate,” Morita shot back. “One good gust from the storm would knock you right over. You've done enough heroics today.”

Too tired to argue, Steve shuffled back into the bedroom and shut the door, just as the rush of heavy summer rain collided with the roof.

~*~

Steve didn't actually remember going to bed, but he supposed he must have, given that when he woke up the next morning he was naked, tucked under the covers, and the sun was shining brightly again, like the previous night's storm had never happened.

Curiously, Steve woke up alone. The window had been pulled open again, and the latent rain smell was still vaguely discernible on the breeze. When Steve brushed his fingers over Bucky's side of the bed he found the blankets to be cold, indicating that his mate had gotten up a while ago.

The fact that Bucky had actually left the room caused Steve to smile. He smoothed his hand across the bedding almost affectionately, utterly relieved that Bucky wasn't still hiding in here.

Steve lounged in bed for a while longer, being entirely too thankful about Bucky's absence before the telltale scent of breakfast offered him the necessary motivation to get up.

Steve tugged on a pair of his sturdy jeans and a thin shirt, then meandered out to the kitchen where he found Bucky and Sarah sitting together and talking softly. Clint was on the couch in the living room looking a bit sulky while the others were outside working, which Steve could immediately tell by the shouts and familiar noises of the construction projects being back in full swing after yesterday's minor disasters.

“Steve, morning,” Bucky said when he spotted Steve meandering over to the table. “You slept late.”

“Uh...yeah...” Steve replied, not sure if it was a good idea to point out _why _he'd been so tired, while his ma pushed a covered plate across the table towards him.

“I kept your breakfast warm, sweetheart,” his ma said, and when she lifted the tea towel he saw that the plate was piled high with eggs, bacon, and sausage. “Your mate and I were just having a little chat while we waited for you to wake up.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked as he pulled up a chair and dug in. “Should I be worried about that?”

“Shut up,” Bucky retorted with a laugh, and Sarah smiled at Bucky fondly. “I was just asking your ma what she'd think about staying here.”

“Oh?” Steve asked, nearly choking on his food as he got the single syllable out. Was Bucky saying what he _thought _he was saying? “For how long?”

“Well...” Bucky paused, hesitating. He gazed across the table at Steve, like he was trying to accurately gauge his reaction, and Steve raised his eyebrows, inviting his mate to speak. “Forever.”


	26. Epilogue – Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can't believe we're finally here at the end! I had no idea what the reception would be upon starting this story, and I'm so glad that you guys have enjoyed it. Here is the epilogue, and I will see you all in the next story!

Epilogue – Coming Home

The tiny finger prodding into the meat of Steve's shoulder almost made him shout out in pain, but it was a very close thing. Their muscles were always tender after a full moon, especially when they didn't eat enough, like Steve foolishly had this time around.

Nevertheless, Steve rolled over with a yawn, and he saw little five-year-old Clint standing there, fully dressed, while the rest of the pack were still huddled up in a puppy pile around one of their newer pack members, resting next to the blackened remains of last night's bonfire.

“Morning, bud,” Steve rasped as he rubbed at his eyes. “Why're you up so early?”

Steve yawned again, while Bucky let out an indistinct whine as he pressed closer to his Alpha Mate. Even though it was already April, the spring air still had a certain bite to it that their skin didn't exactly enjoy.

“Grandma's coming home today, remember?” Clint said, not bothering to whisper, which caused Morita to grunt, and Jim to twitch in sleep. “You promised you'd help me make breakfast for her and Boots, _remember? _Did you forget, Steve?”

Steve closed his eyes as he swallowed a whine. He _really _didn't want to get up. His whole body was aching from this moon, but he _did _make a promise. If nothing else, Steve had always been careful to keep his promises.

“No, I remember,” he said at last, before he looked up at the pink and gold of the sky. “It's just barely past sunrise, bud, so if we started breakfast now, it'd be cold by the time your Grandma got here.”

“Oh.” Clint plopped down on the dewy grass, and frowned. Bucky elbowed Steve deliberately, and Steve grunted as he turned to glare at their resident Alpha.

“Go take him fishing,” Bucky muttered. “That'll keep him occupied until I can wake up.”

Steve pursed his lips, not quite sure if he wanted to point out how _Steve _would have to stay awake for that particular plan, but unfortunately Clint had caught every word, and raced into the house to collect their fishing gear.

“Remind me to kill you when I get back,” Steve muttered, and Bucky huffed a laugh.

Steve dragged himself to his feet, his bones cracking in protest to the movement, and he hobbled inside for some of Jim's incredible cedar ointment as well as some clothes. He cast one last look of longing towards the puppy pile before he slipped inside, and he smiled fondly as he spotted at the two additions to their pack that had trickled in over the years.

The first was Beth, a black woman who worked as a maid for one of the local farms. She'd been been climbing a tree deep in the woods collecting pine cones when she fell and broke her back. Gabe had been the one to find her and he had panicked, biting her before he could do the right thing and _ask _her permission. When she woke instead of being angry, she was thrilled at how Gabe had saved her life. She'd been with them for going on two years now.

The second was Mildred. She was a tall pretty blonde that Dum-Dum had met in town during one of their supply runs. Dum-Dum had been thoroughly taken with her, and had developed an unfortunate habit of running off to town to spend time with Mildred instead of staying with the pack and seeing to his tasks. After a year of this nonsense, Bucky had _insisted _that Dum-Dum tell her the truth and invite her to meet the pack. After that, it didn't take long for Mildred to ask for her own bite, and then a few months later, they discovered the pack was to grow even more when Mildred discovered that she was expecting, roughly eight months prior.

Steve liked Beth and Mildred. It was nice to have some women around again, and they were _very_ good at keeping the pack in line. They were also a big help with the more womanly tasks that needed completing around the territory, such as sewing, spinning, and weaving. That certainly helped when they tore their clothes on a hunt, or used fishing baskets instead of lines, or 'borrowed' a sheep to shear if they found that they didn't have enough materials for winter.

And Steve thought having women around was also good for Clint, especially when he was in need of a mother's love.

In contrast to the two newcomers, Sarah Rogers did not want to be a werewolf. She was perfectly happy as she was, which posed something of a complication once a month. After all, even though she was Steve's mother, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't view her as some kind of threat when their rational minds weren't in control.

So Bucky had taken the helm on that problem, and built Sarah an overnight shelter with scent markers that would keep them away. To ensure that they wouldn't wander in accidentally, he also planted a number of mistletoe plants into the bark of the surrounding trees, which was a natural werewolf repellent.

The shelter worked perfectly in the warmer months, but in the winter it was far too draughty, and Sarah would relocate to town for the season. While there where she worked as a nurse and saved up her earnings for the pack's needs. Naturally, she did not condone their habit of stealing what they needed to survive, and her nest egg proved to be more than enough to get whatever they couldn't grow or hunt for themselves.

Town was where Sarah was now. She always stayed there until the beginning of April, but now she was due to return with another of the pack's most recent foundlings—Boots, Clint's cat.

Steve smiled to himself as he thought of how much their little family had grown in the years since Bucky had first found him half-dead in the snow. After everything, he'd never anticipated he'd ever have so..._much. _It was incredible, really.

“Steeeeeve, are you ready yet?” Clint whined from the door to Steve and Bucky's bedroom, where Steve, half asleep, had been shuffling slowly into his clothes for the day.

“Almost, bud,” Steve called back as he buttoned his shirt up, and ran a comb through his sleep-mussed hair. “You ready to catch some nice fish for Grandma?”

“_Yeah!”_

Together the pair meandered down to the river. It was still pretty chilly out, but Clint didn't seem to feel it; he was too excited at the notion of his grandma coming home to even notice.

~*~

Steve managed to catch a few winks of sleep while they fished, that is, until about an hour in when a huge trout nearly dragged Clint right into the icy water. After that, Steve was _very much awake, _while he begged the boy _not _to tell Bucky what happened, as Bucky would definitely murder Steve for resting his eyes when he was supposed to be watching Clint.

That particular trout had gotten away, but they managed to catch a few small perch, which Steve joked could be an _appetizer _for Sarah's big welcome home feast.

After which he had to explain to Clint what an appetizer was, but the boy didn't seem to love the idea of _little food _in any capacity, which Steve thought made sense—the boy ate like a kid twice his size, easily.

“What if grandma forgot us?” Clint asked, his bottom lip poked out in a pout as they watched the sun creep higher into the sky. It was still very early, and Steve didn't expect her to arrive until at least eleven or so.

“Forgot us?” Steve asked, straightening up a little when he noticed his rod begin to dip, and he reached out to grab the pole to try and feel out if it was time to give it a good tug or not. “Why d'you think she'd forget us, bud?”

“I don't know,” Clint replied with a vague sort of shrug. Steve tugged on his rod, and another little perch leapt from the water. Clint sat back and watched while Steve wrangled the tiny fish, unhooked it, then dumped it unceremoniously into their fish basket.

“I think you might know,” Steve offered with a little smile, which seemed to reassure the cub, and he smiled up at Steve tentatively.

“There's lots of stuff in town. And lots of people,” Clint explained while he looked down and picked at a few of the tiny buds poking out of the soil with one hand, while he held tight to his rod with the other. “There's even little kids in town. Just...what if she finds something better there?”

“Well, you know what town _doesn't _have?” Steve asked as he dug a small piece of meat out of the little tub they'd brought along, and threaded it carefully onto his hook. Clint didn't answer his question right away, and when Steve shifted his gaze to his cub, Clint shrugged his little shoulders.

“I don't know. It has _lots _of stuff, Steve.”

“It doesn't have _you_,” Steve replied, reaching out a clean hand to tap his cub gently on the tip of his nose. “Your grandma loves you to _pieces_, and she'll always come back for you, no matter what. I think if we lived in the desert, or in the middle of the ocean, or...on the moon, she'd always come back for you, son.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied as he reached out to ruffle Clint's hair, making him giggle. “I'm sure.”

~*~

Steve managed to keep Clint's attention at the riverside for another hour or so before he began to beg and plead for Steve to come with him to check the house and see if his grandma had come back yet. By Steve's count it was almost nine o'clock, so he figured it would be as good a time as any to start on their big Welcome Home brunch anyway.

That was the plan, that is until they made it about halfway home and they heard someone _screaming _in pain.

Steve dropped the basket of fish, scooped Clint up, and raced towards the territory, feeling a cold panic settling into his heart at the sound.

When they got there Steve could immediately smell what had happened. Mildred was doubled over in pain, Beth was holding her left arm, while Dum-Dum was clinging to his mate's other side, his face white as a sheet.

“Steve, what's that funny smell?” Clint demanded, while Steve tried to catch his breath as he came down from the momentary surge of adrenaline.

“It's all right, Clint, it's just...um...”

“The baby's coming,” Bucky filled in as he walked over to his mate and son, and Clint's face lit up in a bright smile.

“_Really?_” Clint asked with a gasp. “Finally?”

“Yeah, finally,” Bucky replied with a wry smile, most likely because the baby was actually _early_. “Jim and Jacques went to find your grandma; she knows about this stuff better than most of us, so she's gonna help Auntie Mildred make sure the baby comes out nice 'n healthy.”

“Yeah, most of us don't have the tools to have babies, so we don't know squat about it,” Morita filled in, and Steve scowled as he tried to cover Clint's ears, making the little boy squirm and look around in confusion.

“So, based on your empty hands, sweetheart, I'm guessing you left the fish behind?” Bucky asked before Morita could say anything else, and he felt his cheeks flush red.

“I panicked, okay?” Steve shot back, and Bucky huffed a laugh.

“Come on,” he said as he tugged Clint out of Steve's arms and set him down. “Beth has everything under control; let's go get your fish.”

With Mildred's cries of pain acting as a backdrop, Bucky ushered Steve back to their basket of fish, and they gathered them up before any bears could track the scent. Bucky gleefully teased Steve as he picked up the fish, which Steve ignored while he slid the basket over his arm and together headed back home.

When Steve and Bucky returned, they discovered that the pack had congregated inside the house. Mildred tucked away in her and Dum-Dum's bedroom, which had been converted into a makeshift birthing room. Beth was in there with her while Dum-Dum stood outside, pacing, and looking ten different kinds of terrified.

Steve did his best not to laugh. He really, truly did, as there wasn't anything even remotely funny about one's mate going into labour early, but nevertheless a tiny giggle slipped past his lips, and Dum-Dum shot him with a glare.

Bucky, ever the protective mate, immediately placed himself between Steve and Dum-Dum, and marched Steve into the kitchen.

Clint was already there, helping Morita with the brunch prep by stirring buckwheat pancake batter, his apron and the counter speckled with flour and yet more batter, though by some miracle most of it appeared to have remained in the bowl.

“Morita says that screaming is normal when you have a baby,” Clint piped up with no invitation, and the blasé way he said it caused Steve to snort. “Morita says it's like taking a _really _big poo.”

“Maybe you shouldn't listen to Morita so much, bud,” Steve offered as he ruffled the boy's hair, making him giggle. “You makin' pancakes for Grandma?”

“No, these are for the babies,” he replied. “Grandma gets fish!”

“Of course she does,” Bucky snorted as he upended the fish into the sink, and then set the basket down. “Now, who plans on _cleaning_ these fish?”

“You, Alpha!” Clint piped up. “Because you always say Steve is too pretty to get his hands dirty.”

“_When_ did you say that?!” Steve demanded, his voice squeaking much more than he would have liked it to, even as Morita collapsed on the floor and began to howl with laughter.

Bucky grinned wickedly but didn't answer. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Steve's lips, grabbed a knife, then turned towards the sink order to finally start gutting the fish.

~*~

Less than an hour later, Sarah Rogers came galloping into the territory on Jim's back in his wolf form, while Jacques followed him, carrying an incensed cat inside a wicker basket.

Sarah didn't stop to talk, in fact she hardly passed Clint or her son a passing glance as she rushed into the birthing room with her medical kit already in hand.

Luckily, Jacques was already there with Clint's cat, the creature meowing and hissing angrily as Jacques let it out of the basket, streaked past everyone, and dove under the couch.

“Nobody said hi to me,” Clint said with a frown as he stared at his tall stack of pancakes that Steve had helped him cook, and Steve smiled fondly as he wrapped an arm around the boy in a gentle half-hug.

“Grandma needs to make sure that Mildred is doing okay,” Steve explained. “Being a nurse is very important work, and sometimes having a baby can be dangerous, so you need someone like Grandma around to make sure everybody is safe.”

“How can having a baby be dangerous?” Clint asked, though his eyes were fixed on Boots, his fuzzy black butt sticking out from under the couch, like figured out too late that he was too big to fit under it anymore.

“Mostly if the baby doesn't come out in the right order, it can hurt the mommy or the baby,” Steve explained as he turned over the fish in the pan. They smelled amazing sizzling in a ton of butter and garlic, and Bucky had done a great job of filleting the tiny fish without destroying the meat. “So your grandma is just gonna make sure everything is fine, then she'll come say hello to you.”

“If having a baby is so dangerous, why did Auntie Mildred want one?” Clint asked curiously, and Steve bit back a chuckle. Clint's questions phase could be adorable, but _man _was he not the right candidate to explain babies to a five-year-old.

“Why do you like jumping off the cliffs and into the river in the summer?” Steve asked instead, and Clint blinked up at him in visible confusion to the random question.

“Because it's fun?” Clint asked curiously, and Steve chuckled at him warmly.

“But it can also be dangerous,” Steve supplied. “Remember that time you cracked your noggin' on the way down and nearly gave me and Alpha a heart attack?”

“Not really,” Clint said, “but I 'member waking up and my head hurt a lot.”

“But did it make you not want to jump again?” Steve asked, and the boy shook his head as a smile returned to his face.

“No. I still wanted to do it.”

“See, havin' babies can sometimes be like that,” Steve said as he gave the pan a little shake to make sure the fish weren't sticking. “You want it, even if it's dangerous sometimes.”

“Oh.” Clint turned his gaze back to the pancakes, his little brow creased with thought. “Can I grow a baby in my tummy one day, like Auntie Mildred?”

“I'm afraid not,” Steve said with a warm smile as he reached out to ruffle Clint's hair fondly, “but you can help _make _a baby. And being a helper is real important too. Dads have to be there to help the moms; she does all the work of growing and having the baby, so it's our job to help Mildred when she gets tired, okay?”

“I'll be a good helper, Steve, I promise,” Clint replied, sounding both eager and serious as he said it, and Steve smiled as he reached out to wrap an arm around the cub.

“I know you will, son.”

~*~

For the next few hours, all the men of the pack were barred from the birthing room, including Dum-Dum. He was firmly told by Sarah that men merely “gum up the works”, though that didn't stop the wolf from pacing restlessly in front of the door. The closest he got to having a peek of his mate was when he timidly knocked on the door with plates of food and a jug of water, which Beth and Sarah took inside, though they still didn't allow Dum-Dum entry.

Clint had a slightly more industrious approach, sneaking out of the house in order to stack up firewood outside the window to peek inside, but Sarah caught him within moments, and after giving him a hug and an apology for hiding away, she shooed him back into the house where he couldn't peek in on them any longer.

The men of the pack busied themselves with their usual daily chores, trying to keep themselves busy while the women helped Mildred. Occasionally Beth would peek out and tell them if they needed something, but otherwise they stayed locked in the room, soothing poor Mildred as she cried out and wept through the pain.

“I don't like all the noises Auntie Mildred is making,” Clint said later when afternoon and evening had begun to bleed together. Boots had finally come out of hiding, and he was curled up snugly in Clint's little lap, squished between Bucky and Steve while they tended to a bonfire outside, away from the women for a little while. Steve didn't love the idea of not keeping an eye on how things were going, but all of Mildred's shouts of pain had started to distress Clint, and together Steve and Bucky decided that the boy needed the distraction.

“I know it's scary, but it's normal,” Bucky said as he reached out to rub Clint's back. “Mildred's body needs to do a _lot _of stuff to make the baby come out, and it hurts.”

“Yeah, like swimming,” Clint supplied. “Steve told me.”

“...Swimming?” Bucky asked, blinking at the two of them. Steve snickered and looked away from his mate, while Clint cheerily repeated what Steve had told him earlier, and Bucky nodded his head in understanding. “Yeah, I guess it can be like that. But even though it sounds scary, Mildred will be okay, son. We're all here to make sure she's safe, and your grandma has all sort of training to make _sure _she's okay.”

“Okay,” Clint said as he picked up a stick and tossed it into the fire, and the jostling movement hardly unsettled the cat at all.

Steve smiled fondly at how easily Clint accepted the information, and he reached out to pet the cat, which began to purr loudly at his touch.

At suppertime the baby still hadn't come, but Dum-Dum was informed through a crack in the door that she was fine, and that he didn't need to worry.

Mentally, Steve couldn't help but add a 'yet' to that statement, though he didn't dare to say it out loud. Dum-Dum was stressed out enough without anyone adding to it.

“Why do babies take so long to come out?” Clint asked curiously while he picked apart the venison steak they were having for dinner, along with the last of their winter store of rutabaga and carrots. Everyone had already finished, but little Clint had been resistant to the yellow tuber, and everybody knew that he was using his questions to avoid actually eating it.

“Because...it's like pullin' taffy,” Gabe offered, and Steve goggled at his packmate in confusion at this bizarre explanation. “You know, you gotta stretch and stretch it until it's just right, and it takes a long time to pull it right. Women do that for babies, it's just, you know, with their—”

Jim coughed pointedly and Gabe shut up, though it didn't stop the wolf from grinning at them all toothily.

_I think ma's gonna need to give all of these guys a lesson on how childbirth works when this is over..._ Steve mused, smirking wryly. If the way Gabe and his mate snuck off all the time was any indication, they'd need that knowledge again before long.

Steve opened his mouth, intent on encouraging Clint to eat a little more, when suddenly he heard a shout come from the birthing room, one which definitely didn't belong to Mildred.

“It's coming!” Beth cried as she burst out the door, and pointed to the stove. “Get some water on the boil!”

Before any of them could respond Beth slammed the door again, and they all heard a mingling of shouts, exhausted wails, and words of encouragement.

_The baby was coming._

They all sat there in stunned silence for a moment, then all at once the werewolves leapt to their feet, rushing in different directions to collect water, heat up the stove, and grab a huge assortment of blankets and towels.

As instructed, they got the water on the stove while inside the birthing room Steve could hear Mildred _shriek _in agony, just as he came rushing back inside with a basin to hold the water in, freshly washed in the river.

Dum-Dum didn't seem to trust the cleanliness of the river, and he scrubbed the basin again in the sink with copious amounts of lye soap. Once he deemed the basin clean, they filled it with the steaming water and Dum-Dum proudly carried it over to the birthing room where Beth was waiting at the door to receive it.

The air now felt electric with anticipation, and all the wolves clustered around the doorway, listening to Mildred _scream _and Sarah cry out words of encouragement.

Then, all at once, the room fell silent.

That is, save for the soft, raspy cry of a newborn baby.

The sound made Steve's heart clench up, and tears flood his eyes. When he looked around at the others, he saw that none of them were faring any better, all of them misty-eyed with joy at the new addition to their pack, but none moreso than Dum-Dum. Dum-Dum was rubbing fiercely at his eyes as he laughed and wept, and the others smiled at him, for once devoid of any of their usual teasing barbs.

Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, pulling him close, and Steve mirrored him, holding his mate when the door creaked open again, and Beth poked her head out.

She chuckled warmly at the congregation of wolves around the door, but didn't remark on it as she fixed her attention upon Dum-Dum as she said, “it's a girl.”

“You'll get to see her in a minute, Dum-Dum,” Beth added as the news slowly began to click in Dum-Dum's emotionally exhausted brain, “Sarah's just—”

Beth broke off suddenly as Mildred cried out in pain again. Beth's eyes went wide, and she abruptly slammed the door as she raced back inside. Steve heard some feverish whispering, then suddenly he heard Beth crying, “_push!_” again.

_Again?!_

“What's wrong?” Dum-Dum shouted through the door, eyes wide with panic as he pounded his fist against it, making it rattle. “What's going on in there? Don't make me come in!”

“Isn't it obvious?” Steve interjected with a laugh, which seemed to at least momentarily startle Dum-Dum out of his panic, and his gaze whipped over to the Alpha Mate.

“Isn't _what _obvious?” Dum-Dum demanded, still looking alarmed, even as the shouting in the room raised in volume, telling Mildred over and over to _push!_

“_Twins,_” Steve said, smiling at his packmate, and as though on cue, a second baby's cry filled the air, the faintest difference in pitch not being missed by their keen ears, even as the news seemed to utterly blindside poor Dum-Dum, who looked very much like he just got hit by a train.

“Twins?” he rasped, “but I—but they...but _she..._”

“Another girl,” Beth said breathlessly as she peeked out of the door again. “This time we're _sure_ it's over. We're just getting the girls cleaned up, then you can see them, all right?”

Dum-Dum nodded dumbly, his mouth hanging open as the door shut again, and he turned back to the others, all of whom were grinning at him broadly.

“_Twins!_” he cried, laughing, almost sounding hysterical as the others cheered and slapped him on the back. That is, all except Clint, who couldn't reach, and he decided that kicking Dum-Dum in the shin instead seemed like the thing to do.

Dum-Dum didn't even seem to mind, laughing as he scooped Clint into his arms, making the boy shriek with delight as the wolf tossed him into the air and caught him, while Steve laughed at Dum-Dum's excited antics, and Bucky shouted angrily that Dum-Dum was going to drop the boy.

All the chaos seemed to calm when the door opened again, and Sarah gently shooed the men to the living room where they all took their seats on the couch or in the surrounding armchairs. The babies she and Beth carried were so tiny it was hard to believe that it was happening, and yet they were here.

“Here you are, Daddy,” Sarah whispered as she held out the first baby to Dum-Dum, and she showed him gently how to hold her. Beth stood behind Sarah, rocking the other newborn. Steve smiled, having snagged a spot on the couch with Bucky, and Clint had perched himself on Bucky's lap. Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky, and his mate turned to smile at him fondly.

“And here's the other one,” Beth said as she approached, and Sarah helped Dum-Dum manipulate his arms so that he could hold both at once with little effort.

“How did we not see this coming?” Dum-Dum whispered as he gazed down at the two baby girls, a look of awe on his face. They were completely bald, the one on the left seemed to be asleep, while on the right the little one seemed to be squinting up at her father. “I mean, when you checked her over in November, you didn't say _anything _about twins.”

“She was only about four months along at that last check-up,” Sarah replied with a small smile on her face. “For reference, your girls would have been about the size of a plum at that time. There is only so much I can feel, and unfortunately I can't exactly look into Mildred's stomach to see what was happening. It surprised all of us.”

“Is she all right?” Dum-Dum asked quickly, his gaze flicking so fast between the babies and Sarah that it was honestly making Steve a little dizzy to watch. The poor guy looked like he couldn't figure out what to freak out about first.

“Completely exhausted, but otherwise fine,” Sarah said with another smile. “Wouldn't you say, Beth?”

“Oh, yes, she was a real trooper,” Beth filled in with a grin. “She stayed awake long enough to tell us that she wanted to name them after _the disagreement_, whatever that means, and then she fell right to sleep.”

“Sandy and Ruth,” Dum-Dum said with a chuckle. “I liked Ruth, she liked Sandy, for girls' names. We never could agree on what to name a girl if we had one.”

“Well, I guess that means you don't gotta choose,” Morita filled in with a casual grin, and Dum-Dum laughed croakily, his eyes never straying from the two bundles in his arms.

For the remainder of the evening, Sandy and Ruth were passed around, giving everyone the opportunity to hold the girls and meet them properly, even little Clint, albeit with help from Steve and Bucky.

Not long after, Dum-Dum carried his daughters back to his room, still visibly in a state of shock. In his absence Morita and Jacques began to draw up plans for building a second crib, bassinet, and high chair, along with doubles of all the toys they'd made over the last few months.

Sarah offered her opinions on all the matters, though she looked utterly exhausted from the ordeal. Clint seemed to sense this, and quietly tucked himself into her side while he told her about everything she'd missed during her winter away, and she smiled fondly at the boy while she listened intently to all of his stories.

At bedtime, Sarah took to the task of taking Clint to bed after he'd asked her to, in lieu of his parents. She went to bed herself immediately after, clearly deserving it after the busy day she'd had.

Gradually, everyone else followed suit. That night, as Bucky and Steve settled in together, Bucky's head resting comfortably against Steve's bicep, he gazed at his Alpha Mate thoughtfully, and Steve smiled.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Steve asked mildly, and Bucky offered him an apologetic smile.

“Just thinkin' about the twins,” Bucky replied vaguely. “And...wondering if you'd ever want that. You know, a baby.”

“And ruin my figure?” Steve joked, causing Bucky to huff a laugh as he swatted him gently on the chest.

“I'm being serious,” Bucky said as he rolled his eyes. “I mean...do you ever wish you could have...a baby. Like Mildred and Dum-Dum does, or how Beth and Gabe will eventually.”

“That'd mean gettin' myself a dame, and I don't like the idea of that,” Steve replied without pause. Really, it hadn't taken any time at all to consider that. Bucky was his _everything_. The idea of being with someone else, even for simply having a baby all his own felt..._wrong._ “I like _you, _in case you haven't noticed. And besides, we have Clint. He's ours in every way but blood.”

“But is that enough?” Bucky pressed, showing a rare uncertainty that only came out when they were recovering from a full moon. For some reason, Bucky seemed to adopt a certain air of vulnerability as his body healed from the monthly change.

“It's enough,” Steve promised as he turned to press a kiss to Bucky's lips, followed by another, and another, just to be certain that his words sunk into that thick skull of his. “It's _more _than enough, my Bucky, my _Alpha._ You and Clint are _everything _to me. I don't feel like I've missed out on anything; I love you both more than I've loved anything, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, grinning up at Steve weakly, while he let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I'm just being stupid, I guess.”

“Yeah, real stupid,” Steve replied with a warm laugh as he moved in to kiss Bucky again. “But that's fine, as long as I can be stupid with you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Stupid 'til the end of the line.”

Steve smiled.

“I like the sound of that.”

The End


End file.
